[See  p    146 

DENISON  HIMSELF,  VERY  EXCITED,  JUMPED  OUT  AND  DASHED  INTO 
THE  LABORATORY 


THE  CRAIG  KENNEDY  5ERIE5 


THE 

WAR  TERROR 


&Y 


Arthuk.D.Reeve 

FRONTISPIECE  BY 
WILL.  FOSTER 


HARPER  $  BROTHERS-PUBLISHERS 

NEW     YORK     AND    LONDON 


88 


The  War  Tkrrok 


Copyright,  1915,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 
Printed  ia  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS 


Chapter 


page 


Introduction  . 

vii 

I. 

The  War  Terror  . 

i 

II. 

The  Electro-magnetic  Gun 

ii 

III. 

The  Murder  Syndicate  . 

22 

IV. 

The  Air  Pirate      . 

.       35 

V. 

The  Ultra-violet  Ray    . 

•       45 

VI. 

The  Triple  Mirror 

.       55 

VII. 

The  Wireless  Wiretappers 

66 

VIII. 

The  Houseboat  Mystery 

75 

IX. 

The  Radio  Detective 

,       85 

X. 

The  Curio  Shop    . 

96 

XI. 

The  "Pillar  of  Death"  . 

107 

XII. 

The  Arrow  Poison 

.     118 

XIII. 

The  Radium  Robber 

129 

XIV. 

The  Spinthariscope 

139 

XV. 

The  Asphyxiating  Safe 

149 

XVI. 

The  Dead  Line 

161 

XVII. 

The  Paste  Replica 

172 

XVIII. 

The  Burglar's  Microphone 

.     184 

XIX. 

The  Germ  Letter 

•     195 

XX. 

The  Artificial  Kidney    . 

.     205 

XXI. 

The  Poison  Bracelet 

.     216 

XXII. 

The  Devil  Worshipers  . 

.    227 

2037940 


n 

CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

PAGE 

XXIII. 

The  Psychic  Curse 

•       235 

XXIV. 

The  Serpent's  Tooth 

•       245 

XXV. 

The  "Happy  Dust" 

•       254 

XXVI. 

The  Binet  Test     . 

.       263 

XXVII. 

The  Lie  Detector 

.       273 

XXVIII. 

The  Family  Skeleton 

.       28l 

XXIX. 

The  Lead  Poisoner 

,       291 

XXX. 

The  Electrolytic  Murder 

•       303 

XXXI. 

The  Eugenic  Bride 

♦       3H 

XXXII. 

The  Germ  Plasm 

•       324 

XXXIII. 

The  Sex  Control  .         .         . 

•     334 

XXXIV. 

The  Billionaire  Baby 

•     346 

XXXV. 

The  Psychanalysis 

•     355 

XXXVL 

The  Ends  of  Justice 

.     368 

INTRODUCTION 

As  I  look  back  now  on  the  sensational  events  of 
the  past  months  since  the  great  European  War  be- 
gan, it  seems  to  me  as  if  there  had  never  been  a 
period  in  Craig  Kennedy's  life  more  replete  with 
thrilling  adventures  than  this. 

In  fact,  scarcely  had  one  mysterious  event  been 
straightened  out  from  the  tangled  skein,  when  an- 
other, even  more  baffling,  crowded  on  its  very  heels. 

As  was  to  have  been  expected  with  us  in  America, 
not  all  of  these  remarkable  experiences  grew  either 
directly  or  indirectly  out  of  the  war,  but  there  were 
several  that  did,  and  they  proved  to  be  only  the  be- 
ginning of  a  succession  of  events  which  kept  me 
busy  chronicling  for  the  Star  the  exploits  of  my 
capable  and  versatile  friend. 

Altogether,  this  period  of  the  war  was,  I  am  sure, 
quite  the  most  exciting  of  the  many  series  of  episodes 
through  which  Craig  has  been  called  upon  to  go. 
Yet  he  seemed  to  meet  each  situation  as  it  arose  with 
a  fresh  mind,  which  was  amazing  even  to  me  who 
have  known  him  so  long  and  so  intimately. 

As  was  naturally  to  be  supposed,  also,  at  such  a 
time,  it  was  not  long  before  Craig  found  himself  en- 
tangled in  the  marvelous  spy  system  of  the  warring 
European  nations.  These  systems  revealed  their 
devious  and  dark  ways,  ramifying  as  they  did  ten- 
tacle-like even  across  the  ocean  in  their  efforts  to 
gain  their  ends  in  neutral  America.     Not  only  so, 

vii 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

but,  as  I  shall  some  day  endeavor  to  show  later, 
when  the  ban  of  silence  imposed  by  neutrality  is 
raised  after  the  war,  many  of  the  horrors  of  the 
war  were  brought  home  intimately  to  us. 

I  have,  after  mature  consideration,  decided  that 
even  at  present  nothing  but  good  can  come  from  the 
publication  at  least  of  some  part  of  the  strange  series 
of  adventures  through  which  Kennedy  and  I  have 
just  gone,  especially  those  which  might,  if  we  had 
not  succeeded,  have  caused  most  important  changes 
in  current  history.  As  for  the  other  adventures,  no 
question  can  be  raised  about  the  propriety  of  their 
publication. 

At  any  rate,  it  came  about  that  early  in  August, 
when  the  war  cloud  was  just  beginning  to  loom 
blackest,  Kennedy  was  unexpectedly  called  into  one 
of  the  strangest,  most  dangerous  situations  in  which 
his  peculiar  and  perilous  profession  had  ever  in- 
volved him. 


THE  WAR  TERROR 


CHAPTER    I 

THE  WAR  TERROR 

"I  must  see  Professor  Kennedy — where  is  he? — 
I  must  see  him,  for  God's  sake!" 

I  was  almost  carried  off  my  feet  by  the  inrush 
of  a  wild-eyed  girl,  seemingly  half  crazed  with  ex- 
citement, as  she  cried  out  Craig's  name. 

Startled  by  my  own  involuntary  exclamation  of 
surprise  which  followed  the  vision  that  shot  past 
me  as  I  opened  our  door  in  response  to  a  sudden, 
sharp  series  of  pushes  at  the  buzzer,  Kennedy 
bounded  swiftly  toward  me,  and  the  girl  almost  flung 
herself  upon  him. 

"Why,  Miss — er — Miss — my  dear  young  lady — 
what's  the  matter?"  he  stammered,  catching  her  by 
the  arm  gently. 

As  Kennedy  forced  our  strange  visitor  into  a 
chair,  I  observed  that  she  was  all  a-tremble.  Her 
teeth  fairly  chattered.  Alternately  her  nervous, 
peaceless  hands  clutched  at  an  imaginary  something 
in  the  air,  as  if  for  support,  then,  finding  none,  she 
would  let  her  wrists  fall  supine,  while  she  gazed 
about  with  quivering  lips  and  wild,  restless  eyes. 
Plainly,  there  was  something  she  feared.  She  was 
almost  over  the  verge  of  hysteria. 

She  was  a  striking  girl,  of  medium  height  and 

I 


2  THE  WAR  TERROR 

slender  form,  but  it  was  her  face  that  fascinated 
me,  with  its  delicately  molded  features,  intense  un- 
fathomable eyes  of  dark  brown,  and  lips  that  showed 
her  idealistic,  high-strung  temperament. 

"Please,"  he  soothed,  "get  yourself  together, 
please — try!    What  is  the  matter?" 

She  looked  about,  as  if  she  feared  that  the  very 
walls  had  eyes  and  ears.  Yet  there  seemed  to  be 
something  bursting  from  her  lips  that  she  could  not 
restrain. 

"My  life,"  she  cried  wildly,  "my  life  is  at  stake. 
Oh — help  me,  help  me !  Unless  I  commit  a  murder 
to-night,  I  shall  be  killed  myself!" 

The  words  sounded  so  doubly  strange  from  a  girl 
of  her  evident  refinement  that  I  watched  her  nar- 
rowly, not  sure  yet  but  that  we  had  a  plain  case  of 
insanity  to  deal  with. 

"A  murder?"  repeated  Kennedy  incredulously. 
"You  commit  a  murder?" 

Her  eyes  rested  on  him,  as  if  fascinated,  but  she 
did  not  flinch  as  she  replied  desperately,  "Yes — 
Baron  Kreiger — you  know,  the  German  diplomat 
and  financier,  who  is  in  America  raising  money  and 
arousing  sympathy  with  his  country." 

"Baron  Kreiger!"  exclaimed  Kennedy  in  surprise, 
looking  at  her  more  keenly. 

We  had  not  met  the  Baron,  but  we  had  heard 
much  about  him,  young,  handsome,  of  an  old  fam- 
ily, trusted  already  in  spite  of  his  youth  by  many 
of  the  more  advanced  of  old  world  financial  and 
political  leaders,  one  who  had  made  a  most  favora- 
ble impression  on  democratic  America  at  a  time 
when  such  impressions  were  valuable. 

Glancing  from  one  of  us  to  the  other,  she  seemed 
suddenly,  with  a  great  effort,  to  recollect  herself,  for 


THE  WAR  TERROR  3 

she  reached  into  her  chatelaine  and  pulled  out  a  card 
from  a  case. 

It  read  simply,  "Miss  Paula  Lowe." 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  more  calmly  now  to  Kennedy's 
repetition  of  the  Baron's  name,  "you  see,  I  belong 
to  a  secret  group."  She  appeared  to  hesitate,  then 
suddenly  added,  "I  am  an  anarchist." 

She  watched  the  effect  of  her  confession  and,  find- 
ing the  look  on  Kennedy's  face  encouraging  rather 
than  shocked,  went  on  breathlessly:  "We  are  fighting 
war  with  war — this  iron-bound  organization  of  men 
and  women.  We  have  pledged  ourselves  to  extermi- 
nate all  kings,  emperors  and  rulers,  ministers  of  war, 
generals — but  first  of  all  the  financiers  who  lend 
money  that  makes  war  possible." 

She  paused,  her  eyes  gleaming  momentarily  with 
something  like  the  militant  enthusiasm  that  must 
have  enlisted  her  in  the  paradoxical  war  against  war. 

"We  are  at  least  going  to  make  another  war  im- 
possible !"  she  exclaimed,  for  the  moment  evidently 
forgetting  herself. 

"And  your  plan?"  prompted  Kennedy,  in  the  most 
matter-of-fact  manner,  as  though  he  were  discussing 
an  ordinary  campaign  for  social  betterment.  "How 
were  you  to — reach  the  Baron?" 

"We  had  a  drawing,"  she  answered  with  amazing 
calmness,  as  if  the  mere  telling  relieved  her  pent-up 
feelings.  "Another  woman  and  I  were  chosen.  We 
knew  the  Baron's  weakness  for  a  pretty  face.  We 
planned  to  become  acquainted  with  him — lure  him 
on. 

Her  voice  trailed  off,  as  if,  the  first  burst  of  con- 
fidence over,  she  felt  something  that  would  lock  her 
secret  tighter  in  her  breast. 

A  moment  later  she  resumed,  now  talking  rapidly, 


4  THE  WAR  TERROR 

disconnectedly,  giving  Kennedy  no  chance  to  inter- 
rupt or  guide  the  conversation. 

"You  don't  know,  Professor  Kennedy,"  she  be- 
gan again,  "but  there  are  similar  groups  to  ours  in 
European  countries  and  the  plan  is  to  strike  terror 
and  consternation  everywhere  in  the  world  at  once. 
Why,  at  our  headquarters  there  have  been  drawn 
up  plans  and  agreements  with  other  groups  and 
there  are  set  down  the  time,  place,  and  manner  of 
all  the — the  removals." 

Momentarily  she  seemed  to  be  carried  away  by 
something  like  the  fanaticism  of  the  fervor  which 
had  at  first  captured  her,  even  still  held  her  as  she 
recited  her  incredible  story. 

"Oh,  can't  you  understand?"  she  went  on,  as  if 
to  justify  herself.  "The  increase  in  armies,  the 
frightful  implements  of  slaughter,  the  total  failure 
of  the  peace  propaganda — they  have  all  defied  civili- 
zation! 

"And  then,  too,  the  old,  red-blooded  emotions  of 
battle  have  all  been  eliminated  by  the  mechanical 
conditions  of  modern  warfare  in  which  men  and 
women  are  just  so  many  units,  automata.  Don't  you 
see  ?  To  fight  war  with  its  own  weapons — that  has 
become  the  only  last  resort." 

Her  eager,  flushed  face  betrayed  the  enthusiasm 
which  had  once  carried  her  into  the  "Group,"  as  she 
called  it.  I  wondered  what  had  brought  her  now 
to  us. 

"We  are  no  longer  making  war  against  man,"  she 
cried.  "We  are  making  war  against  picric  acid  and 
electric  wires !" 

I  confess  that  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  there 
was  no  doubt  that  to  a  certain  type  of  mind  the  rea- 
soning might  appeal  most  strongly. 


THE  WAR  TERROR  5 

"And  you  would  do  it  in  war  time,  too?"  asked 
Kennedy  quickly. 

She  was  ready  with  an  answer.  "King  George  of 
Greece  was  killed  at  the  head  of  his  troops.  Re- 
member Nazim  Pasha,  too.  Such  people  are  easily 
reached  in  time  of  peace  and  in  time  of  war,  also, 
6y  sympathizers  on  their  own  side.  That's  it,  you 
see — we  have  followers  of  all  nationalities." 

She  stopped,  her  burst  of  enthusiasm  spent.  A 
moment  later  she  leaned  forward,  her  clean-cut  pro- 
file showing  her  more  earnest  than  before.  "But, 
oh,  Professor  Kennedy,"  she  added,  "it  is  working 
itself  out  to  be  more  terrible  than  war  itself  I" 

"Have  any  of  the  plans  been  carried  out  yet?" 
•deed  Craig,  I  thought  a  little  superciliously,  for 
there  had  certainly  been  no  such  wholesale  assassina- 
tion yet  as  she  had  hinted  at. 

She  seemed  to  catch  her  breath.  "Yes,"  she  mur- 
mured, then  checked  herself  as  if  in  fear  of  saying 
too  much.     "That  is,  I — I  think  so." 

I  wondered  if  she  were  concealing  something,  per- 
haps had  already  had  a  hand  in  some  such  enter- 
prise and  it  had  frightened  her. 

Kennedy  leaned  forward,  observing  the  girl's  dis- 
comfiture. "Miss  Lowe,"  he  said,  catching  her  eye 
and  holding  it  almost  hypnotically,  "why  have  you 
come  to  see  me?" 

The  question,  pointblank,  seemed  to  startle  her. 
Evidently  she  had  thought  to  tell  only  as  little  as 
necessary,  and  in  her  own  way.  She  gave  a  little 
nervous  laugh,  as  if  to  pass  it  off.  But  Kennedy's 
eyes  conquered. 

"Oh,  can't  you  understand  yet?"  she  exclaimed, 
rising  passionately  and  throwing  out  her  arms  in 
appeal.     "I  was  carried  away  with  my  hatred  of 


6  THE  WAR  TERROR 

war.  I  hate  it  yet.  But  now — the  sudden  realiza- 
tion of  what  this  compact  all  means  has — well, 
caused  something  in  me  to — to  snap.  I  don't  care 
what  oath  I  have  taken.  Oh,  Professor  Kennedy, 
you — you  must  save  him !" 

I  looked  up  at  her  quickly.  What  did  she  mean? 
At  first  she  had  come  to  be  saved  herself.  "You 
must  save  him!"  she  implored. 

Our  door  buzzer  sounded. 

She  gazed  about  with  a  hunted  look,  as  if  she 
felt  that  some  one  had  even  now  pursued  her  and 
found  out. 

"What  shall  I  do  ?"  she  whispered.  "Where  shall 
I  go?" 

"Quick — in  here.  No  one  will  know,"  urged 
Kennedy,  opening  the  door  to  his  room.  He  paused 
for  an  instant,  hurriedly.  "Tell  me — have  you  and 
this  other  woman  met  the  Baron  yet?  How  far  has 
it  gone?" 

The  look  she  gave  him  was  peculiar.  I  could  not 
fathom  what  was  going  on  in  her  mind.  But  there 
was  no  hesitation  about  her  answer.  "Yes,"  she  re- 
plied, "I — -we  have  met  him.  He  is  to  come  back 
to  New  York  from  Washington  to-day — this  after- 
noon— to  arrange  a  private  loan  of  five  million  dol- 
lars with  some  bankers  secretly.  We  were  to  see 
him  to-night — a  quiet  dinner,  after  an  automobile 
ride  up  the  Hudson " 

"Both  of  you?"  interrupted  Craig. 

"Yes — that — that  other  woman  and  myself,"  she 
repeated,  with  a  peculiar  catch  in  her  voice.  "To- 
night was  the  time  fixed  in  the  drawing  for  the " 

The  word  stuck  in  her  throat.  Kennedy  under- 
stood. "Yes,  yes,"  he  encouraged,  "but  who  is  the 
other  woman?" 


THE  WAR  TERROR  7 

Before  she  could  reply,  the  buzzer  had  sounded 
again  and  she  had  retreated  from  the  door.  Quickly 
Kennedy  closed  it  and  opened  the  outside  door. 

It  was  our  old  friend  Burke  of  the  Secret  Service. 

Without  a  word  of  greeting,  a  hasty  glance 
seemed  to  assure  him  that  Kennedy  and  I  were  alone. 
He  closed  the  door  himself,  and,  instead  of  sitting 
down,  came  close  to  Craig. 

"Kennedy,"  he  blurted  out  in  a  tone  of  sup- 
pressed excitement,  "can  I  trust  you  to  keep  a  big 
secret?" 

Craig  looked  at  him  reproachfully,  but  said  noth- 
ing. 

"I  beg  your  pardon — a  thousand  times,"  hastened 
Burke.       I  was  so  excited,  I  wasn't  thinking " 

"Once  is  enough,  Burke,"  laughed  Kennedy,  his 
good  nature  restored  at  Burke's  crestfallen  appear- 
ance. 

"Well,  you  see,"  went  on  the  Secret  Service  man, 
"this  thing  is  so  very  important  that — well,  I  for- 
got." 

He  sat  down  and  hitched  his  chair  close  to  us,  as 
he  went  on  in  a  lowered,  almost  awestruck  tone. 

"Kennedy,"  he  whispered,  "I'm  on  the  trail,  I 
think,  of  something  growing  out  of  these  terrible 
conditions  in  Europe  that  will  tax  the  best  in  the 
Secret  Service.  Think  of  it,  man.  There's  an  or- 
ganization, right  here  in  this  city,  a  sort  of  assassin's 
club,  as  it  were,  aimed  at  all  the  powerful  men  the 
world  over.  Why,  the  most  refined  and  intellectual 
reformers  have  joined  with  the  most  red-handed 
anarchists  and " 

"Sh!  not  so  loud,"  cautioned  Craig.  "I  think  I 
have  one  of  them  in  the  next  room.  Have  they  done 
anything  yet  to  the  Baron?" 


8  THE  WAR  TERROR 

It  was  Burke's  turn  now  to  look  from  one  to  the 
other  of  us  in  unfeigned  surprise  that  we  should  al- 
ready know  something  of  his  secret. 

"The  Baron?"  he  repeated,  lowering  his  voice. 
"What  Baron?" 

It  was  evident  that  Burke  knew  nothing,  at  least 
of  this  new  plot  which  Miss  Lowe  had  indicated. 
Kennedy  beckoned  him  over  to  the  window  furthest 
from  the  door  to  his  own  room. 

"What  have  you  discovered?"  he  asked,  fore- 
stalling Burke  in  the  questioning.  "What  has  hap- 
pened?" 

"You  haven't  heard,  then?"  replied  Burke. 

Kennedy  nodded  negatively. 

"Fortescue,  the  American  inventor  of  fortescite, 
the  new  explosive,  died  very  strangely  this  morning." 

"Yes,"  encouraged  Kennedy,  as  Burke  came  to  a 
full  stop  to  observe  the  effect  of  the  information. 

"Most  incomprehensible,  too,"  he  pursued.  "No 
cause,  apparently.  But  it  might  have  been  over- 
looked, perhaps,  except  for  one  thing.  It  wasn't 
known  generally,  but  Fortescue  had  just  perfected 
a  successful  electro-magnetic  gun  —  powderless, 
smokeless,  flashless,  noiseless  and  of  tremendous 
power.  To-morrow  he  was  to  have  signed  the  con- 
tract to  sell  it  to  England.  This  morning  he  is  found 
dead  and  the  final  plans  of  the  gun  are  gone !" 

Kennedy  and  Burke  were  standing  mutely  looking 
at  each  other. 

"Who  is  in  the  next  room?"  whispered  Burke 
hoarsely,  recollecting  Kennedy's  caution  of  silence. 

Kennedy  did  not  reply  immediately.  He  was  evi- 
dently much  excited  by  Burke's  news  of  the  wonder- 
ful electro-magnetic  gun. 

"Burke,"  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  "let's  join  forces. 


THE  WAR  TERROR  9 

I  think  we  are  both  on  the  trail  of  a  world-wide  con- 
spiracy— a  sort  of  murder  syndicate  to  wipe  out 
war!" 

Burke's  only  reply  was  a  low  whistle  that  invol- 
untarily escaped  him  as  he  reached  over  and  grasped 
Craig's  hand,  which  to  him  represented  the  sealing 
of  the  compact. 

As  for  me,  I  could  not  restrain  a  mental  shudder 
at  the  power  that  their  first  murder  had  evidently 
placed  in  the  hands  of  the  anarchists,  if  they  indeed 
had  the  electro-magnetic  gun  which  inventors  had 
been  seeking  for  generations.  What  might  they  not 
do  with  it — perhaps  even  use  it  themselves  and  turn 
the  latest  invention  against  society  itself ! 

Hastily  Craig  gave  a  whispered  account  of  our 
strange  visit  from  Miss  Lowe,  while  Burke  listened, 
open-mouthed. 

He  had  scarcely  finished  when  he  reached  for  the 
telephone  and  asked  for  long  distance. 

uIs  this  the  German  embassy  in  Washington?" 
asked  Craig  a  few  moments  later  when  he  got  his 
number.  "This  is  Craig  Kennedy,  in  New  York. 
The  United  States  Secret  Service  will  vouch  for  me 
— mention  to  them  Mr.  Burke  of  their  New  York 
office  who  is  here  with  me  now.  I  understand  that 
Baron  Kreiger  is  leaving  for  New  York  to  meet 
some  bankers  this  afternoon.  He  must  not  do  so. 
He  is  in  the  gravest  danger  if  he — What?  He  left 
last  night  at  midnight  and  is  already  here?" 

Kennedy  turned  to  us  blankly. 

The  door  to  his  room  opened  suddenly. 

There  stood  Miss  Lowe,  gazing  wild-eyed  at  us. 
Evidently  her  supernervous  condition  had  height- 
ened the  keenness  of  her  senses.  She  had  heard 
what  we  were  saying.     I  tried  to  read  her  face.     It. 


io  THE  WAR  TERROR 

was  not  fear  that  I  saw  there.  It  was  rage;  it  was 
jealousy. 

"The  traitress — it  is  Marie!"  she  shrieked. 

For  a  moment,  obtusely,  I  did  not  understand. 

"She  has  made  a  secret  appointment  with  him," 
she  cried. 

At  last  I  saw  the  truth.  Paula  Lowe  had  fallen 
in  love  with  the  man  she  had  sworn  to  kill ! 


CHAPTER    II 

THE  ELECTRO-MAGNETIC  GUN 

"What  shall  we  do?"  demanded  Burke,  instantly 
taking  in  the  dangerous  situation  that  the  Baron's 
sudden  change  of  plans  had  opened  up. 

"Call  O'Connor,"  I  suggested,  thinking  of  the  po- 
lice bureau  of  missing  persons,  and  reaching  for  the 
telephone. 

"No,  no!"  almost  shouted  Craig,  seizing  my  arm. 
"The  police  will  inevitably  spoil  it  all.  No,  we  must 
play  a  lone  hand  in  this  if  we  are  to  work  it  out. 
How  was  Fortescue  discovered,  Burke?" 

"Sitting  in  a  chair  in  his  laboratory.  He  must 
have  been  there  all  night.  There  wasn't  a  mark  on 
him,  not  a  sign  of  violence,  yet  his  face  was  terri- 
bly drawn  as  though  he  were  gasping  for  breath  or 
his  heart  had  suddenly  failed  him.  So  far,  I  be- 
lieve, the  coroner  has  no  clue  and  isn't  advertising 
the  case." 

"Take  me  there,  then,"  decided  Craig  quickly. 
"Walter,  I  must  trust  Miss  Lowe  to  you  on  the 
journey.  We  must  all  go.  That  must  be  our  start- 
ing point,  if  we  are  to  run  this  thing  down." 

I  caught  his  significant  look  to  me  and  interpreted 
it  to  mean  that  he  wanted  me  to  watch  Miss  Lowe 
especially.  I  gathered  that  taking  her  was  in  the 
nature  of  a  third  degree  and  as  a  result  he  expected 

II 


12  THE  WAR  TERROR 

to  derive  some  information  from  her.  Her  face 
was  pale  and  drawn  as  we  four  piled  into  a  taxi- 
cab  for  a  quick  run  downtown  to  the  laboratory  of 
Fortescue  from  which  Burke  had  come  directly  to 
us  with  his  story. 

"What  do  you  know  of  these  anarchists?"  asked 
Kennedy  of  Burke  as  we  sped  along.  "Why  do  you 
suspect  them?" 

It  was  evident  that  he  was  discussing  the  case  so 
that  Paula  could  overhear,  for  a  purpose. 

"Why,  we  received  a  tip  from  abroad — I  won't 
say  where,"  replied  Burke  guardedly,  taking  his  cue. 
"They  call  themselves  the  'Group,'  I  believe,  which 
is  a  common  enough  term  among  anarchists.  It 
seems  they  are  composed  of  terrorists  of  all  na- 
tions." 

"The  leader?"  inquired  Kennedy,  leading  him  on. 

"There  is  one,  I  believe,  a  little  florid,  stout  Ger- 
man. I  think  he  is  a  paranoiac  who  believes  there 
has  fallen  on  himself  a  divine  mission  to  end  all 
warfare.  Quite  likely  he  is  one  of  those  who  have 
fled  to  America  to  avoid  military  service.  Perhaps, 
why  certainly,  you  must  know  him — Annenberg,  an 
instructor  in  economics  now  at  the  University?" 

Craig  nodded  and  raised  his  eyebrows  in  mild  sur- 
prise. We  had  indeed  heard  of  Annenberg  and 
some  of  his  radical  theories  which  had  sometimes 
quite  alarmed  the  conservative  faculty.  I  felt  that 
this  was  getting  pretty  close  home  to  us  now. 

"How  about  Mrs.  Annenberg?"  Craig  asked,  re- 
calling the  clever  young  wife  of  the  middle-aged  pro- 
fessor. 

At  the  mere  mention  of  the  name,  I  felt  a  sort  of 
start  in  Miss  Lowe,  who  was  seated  next  to  me  in 
the  taxicab.     She  had  quickly  recovered  herself,  but 


THE  ELECTRO-MAGNETIC  GUN      13 

not  before  I  saw  that  Kennedy's  plan  of  breaking 
down  the  last  barrier  of  her  reserve  was  working. 

"She  is  one  of  them,  too,"  Burke  nodded.  "I 
have  had  my  men  out  shadowing  them  and  their 
friends.  They  tell  me  that  the  Annenbergs  hold 
salons — I  suppose  you  would  call  them  that — at- 
tended by  numbers  of  men  and  women  of  high  social 
and  intellectual  position  who  dabble  in  radicalism 
and  all  sorts  of  things." 

"Who  are  the  other  leaders?"  asked  Craig. 
"Have  you  any  idea?" 

"Some  idea,"  returned  Burke.  "There  seems  to 
be  a  Frenchman,  a  tall,  wiry  man  of  forty-five  or 
fifty  with  a  black  mustache  which  once  had  a  mili- 
tary twist.  There  are  a  couple  of  Englishmen. 
Then  there  are  five  or  six  Americans  who  seem  to 
be  active.    One,  I  believe,  is  a  young  woman." 

Kennedy  checked  him  with  a  covert  glance,  but 
did  not  betray  by  a  movement  of  a  muscle  to  Miss 
Lowe  that  either  Burke  or  himself  suspected  her  of 
being  the  young  woman  in  question. 

"There  are  three  Russians,"  continued  Burke,  "all 
of  whom  have  escaped  from  Siberia.  Then  there 
is  at  least  one  Austrian,  a  Spaniard  from  the  Ferrer 
school,  and  Tomasso  and  Enrico,  two  Italians, 
rather  heavily  built,  swarthy,  bearded.  They  look 
the  part.  Of  course  there  are  others.  But  these 
in  the  main,  I  think,  compose  what  might  be  called 
'the  inner  circle'  of  the  'Group.'  " 

It  was  indeed  an  alarming,  terrifying  revelation, 
as  we  began  to  realize  that  Miss  Lowe  had  undoubt- 
edly been  telling  the  truth.  Not  alone  was  there  this 
American  group,  evidently,  but  all  over  Europe  the 
lines  of  the  conspiracy  had  apparently  spread.  It 
was  not  a  casual  gathering  of  ordinary  malcontents. 


i4  THE  WAR  TERROR 

It  went  deeper  than  that.  It  included  many  who  in 
their  disgust  at  war  secretly  were  not  unwilling  to 
wink  at  violence  to  end  the  curse.  I  could  not  but 
reflect  on  the  dangerous  ground  on  which  most  of 
them  were  treading,  shaking  the  basis  of  all  civiliza- 
tion in  order  to  cut  out  one  modern  excrescence. 

The  big  fact  to  us,  just  at  present,  was  that  this 
group  had  made  America  its  headquarters,  that 
plans  had  been  studiously  matured  and  even  reduced 
to  writing,  if  Paula  were  to  be  believed.  Everything 
had  been  carefully  staged  for  a  great  simultaneous 
blow  or  series  of  blows  that  would  rouse  the  whole 
world. 

As  I  watched  I  could  not  escape  observing  that 
Miss  Lowe  followed  Burke  furtively  now,  as  though 
he  had  some  uncanny  power. 

Fortescue's  laboratory  was  in  an  old  building  on 
a  side  street  several  blocks  from  the  main  thorough- 
fares of  Manhattan.  He  had  evidently  chosen  it, 
partly  because  of  its  very  inaccessibility  in  order  to 
secure  the  quiet  necessary  for  his  work. 

"If  he  had  any  visitors  last  night,"  commented 
Kennedy  when  our  cab  at  last  pulled  up  before  the 
place,  "they  might  have  come  and  gone  unnoticed." 

We  entered.  Nothing  had  been  disturbed  in  the 
laboratory  by  the  coroner  and  Kennedy  was  able  to 
gain  a  complete  idea  of  the  case  rapidly,  almost  as 
well  as  if  we  had  been  called  in  immediately. 

Fortescue's  body,  it  seemed,  had  been  discovered 
sprawled  out  in  a  big  armchair,  as  Burke  had  said, 
by  one  of  his  assistants  only  a  few  hours  before  when 
he  had  come  to  the  laboratory  in  the  morning  to 
open  it.  Evidently  he  had  been  there  undisturbed 
all  night,  keeping  a  gruesome  vigil  over  his  looted 
treasure  house. 


THE  ELECTRO-MAGNETIC  GUN      15 

As  we  gleaned  the  meager  facts,  it  became  more 
evident  that  whoever  had  perpetrated  the  crime  must 
have  had  the  diabolical  cunning  to  do  it  in  some 
ordinary  way  that  aroused  no  suspicion  on  the  part 
of  the  victim,  for  there  was  no  sign  of  any  violence 
anywhere. 

As  we  entered  the  laboratory,  I  noted  an  involun- 
tary shudder  on  the  part  of  Paula  Lowe,  but,  as 
far  as  I  knew,  it  was  no  more  than  might  have  been 
felt  by  anyone  under  the  circumstances. 

Fortescue's  body  had  been  removed  from  the 
chair  in  which  it  had  been  found  and  lay  on  a  couch 
at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  covered  merely  by  a 
sheet.  Otherwise,  everything,  even  the  armchair, 
was  undisturbed. 

Kennedy  pulled  back  a  corner  of  the  sheet,  dis- 
closing the  face,  contorted  and  of  a  peculiar,  purplish 
hue  from  the  congested  blood  vessels.  He  bent  over 
and  I  did  so,  too.  There  was  an  unmistakable  odor 
of  tobacco  on  him.  A  moment  Kennedy  studied  the 
face  before  us,  then  slowly  replaced  the  sheet. 

Miss  Lowe  had  paused  just  inside  the  door  and 
seemed  resolutely  bound  not  to  look  at  anything. 
Kennedy  meanwhile  had  begun  a  most  minute  search 
of  the  table  and  floor  of  the  laboratory  near  the 
spot  where  the  armchair  had  been  sitting. 

In  my  effort  to  glean  what  I  could  from  her  ac- 
tions and  expressions  I  did  not  notice  that  Craig  had 
dropped  to  his  knees  and  was  peering  into  the 
shadow  under  the  laboratory  table.  When  at  last 
he  rose  and  straightened  himself  up,  however,  I  saw 
that  he  was  holding  in  the  palm  of  his  hand  a  half- 
smoked,  gold-tipped  cigarette,  which  had  evidently 
fallen  on  the  floor  beneath  the  table  where  it  had 


1 6  THE  WAR  TERROR 

burned  itself  out,  leaving  a  blackened  mark  o»'  the 
wood. 

An  instant  afterward  he  picked  out  from  the  pile 
of  articles  found  in  Fortescue's  pockets  and  lying  on 
another  table  a  silver  cigarette  case.  He  snapped  it 
open.  Fortescue's  cigarettes,  of  which  there  were 
perhaps  a  half  dozen  in  the  case,  were  cork-tipped. 

Some  one  had  evidently  visited  the  inventor  the 
night  before,  had  apparently  offered  him  a  cigarette, 
for  there  were  any  number  of  the  cork-tipped  stubs 
lying  about.  Who  was  it?  -1  caught  Paula  looking 
with  fascinated  gaze  at  the  gold-tipped  stub,  as  Ken- 
nedy carefully  folded  it  up  in  a  piece  of  paper  and 
deposited  it  in  his  pocket.  Did  she  know  something 
about  the  case,  I  wondered? 

Without  a  word,  Kennedy  seemed  to  take  in  the 
scant  furniture  of  the  laboratory  at  a  glance  and  a 
quick  step  or  two  brought  him  before  a  steel  filing 
cabinet.  One  drawer,  which  had  not  been  closed  as 
tightly  as  the  rest,  projected  a  bit.  On  its  face  was  a 
little  typewritten  card  bearing  the  inscription:  "E-M 
GUN." 

He  pulled  the  drawer  open  and  glanced  over  the 
data  in  it. 

"Just  what  is  an  electro-magnetic  gun?"  I  asked, 
interpreting  the  initials  on  the  drawer. 

"Well,"  he  explained  as  he  turned  over  the  notes 
and  sketches,  "the  primary  principle  involved  in  the 
construction  of  such  a  gun  consists  in  impelling  the 
projectile  by  the  magnetic  action  of  a  solenoid,  the 
sectional  coils  or  helices  of  which  are  supplied  with 
current  through  devices  actuated  by  the  projectile 
itself.  In  other  words,  the  sections  of  helices  of  the 
solenoid  produce  an  accelerated  motion  of  the  pro- 
jectile by  acting  successively  on  it,  after  a  principle 


THE  ELECTRO-MAGNETIC  GUN      17 

involved  in  the  construction  of  electro-magnetic  rock 
drills  and  dispatch  tubes. 

"All  projectiles  used  in  this  gun  of  Fortescue's 
evidently  must  have  magnetic  properties  and  projec- 
tiles of  iron  or  containing  large  portions  of  iron  are 
necessary.  You  see,  many  coils  are  wound  around 
the  barrel  of  the  gun.  As  the  projectile  starts  it 
does  so  under  the  attraction  of  those  coils  ahead 
which  the  current  makes  temporary  magnets.  It 
automatically  cuts  off  the  current  from  those  coils 
that  it  passes,  allowing  those  further  on  only  to  at- 
tract it,  and  preventing  those  behind  from  pulling 
it  back." 

He  paused  to  study  the  scraps  of  plans.  "Fortes- 
cue  had  evidently  also  worked  out  a  way  of  chang- 
ing the  poles  of  the  coils  as  the  projectile  passed, 
causing  them  then  to  repel  the  projectile,  which 
must  have  added  to  its  velocity.  He  seems  to  have 
overcome  the  practical  difficulty  that  in  order  to  ob- 
tain service  velocities  with  service  projectiles  an 
enormous  number  of  windings  and  a  tremendously 
long  barrel  are  necessary  as  well  as  an  abnormally 
heavy  current  beyond  the  safe  carrying  capacity  of 
the  solenoid  which  would  raise  the  temperature  to  a 
point  that  would  destroy  the  coils." 

He  continued  turning  over  the  prints  and  notes 
in  the  drawer.  When  he  finished,  he  looked  up  at 
us  with  an  expression  that  indicated  that  he  had 
merely  satisfied  himself  of  something  he  had  already 
suspected. 

"You  were  right,  Burke,"  he  said.  "The  final 
plans  are  gone." 

Burke,  who,  in  the  meantime,  had  been  telephon- 
ing about  the  city  in  a  vain  effort  to  locate  Baron 
Kreiger,  both  at  such  banking  offices  in  Wall  Street 


1 8  THE  WAR  TERROR 

as  he  might  be  likely  to  visit  and  at  some  of  the  ho- 
tels most  frequented  by  foreigners,  merely  nodded. 
He  was  evidently  at  a  loss  completely  how  to  pro- 
ceed. 

In  fact,  there  seemed  to  be  innumerable  prob- 
lems— to  warn  Baron  Kreiger,  to  get  the  list  of  the 
assassinations,  to  guard  Miss  Lowe  against  falling 
into  the  hands  of  her  anarchist  friends  again,  to  find 
the  murderer  of  Fortescue,  to  prevent  the  use  of  the 
electro-magnetic  gun,  and,  if  possible,  to  seize  the 
anarchists  before  they  had  a  chance  to  carry  further 
their  plans. 

"There  is  nothing  more  that  we  can  do  here,"  re- 
marked Craig  briskly,  betraying  no  sign  of  hesita- 
tion. "I  think  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  go 
to  my  own  laboratory.  There  at  least  there  is  some- 
thing I  must  investigate  sooner  or  later." 

No  one  offering  either  a  suggestion  or  an  objec- 
tion, we  four  again  entered  our  cab.  It  was  quite 
noticeable  now  that  the  visit  had  shaken  Paula 
Lowe,  but  Kennedy  still  studiously  refrained  from 
questioning  her,  trusting  that  what  she  had  seen  and 
heard,  especially  Burke's  report  as  to  Baron  Kreiger, 
would  have  its  effect. 

Like  everyone  visiting  Craig's  laboratory  for  the 
first  time,  Miss  Lowe  seemed  to  feel  the  spell  of  the 
innumerable  strange  and  uncanny  instruments  which 
he  had  gathered  about  him  in  his  scientific  warfare 
against  crime.  I  could  see  that  she  was  becoming 
more  and  more  nervous,  perhaps  fearing  even  that 
in  some  incomprehensible  way  he  might  read  her 
own  thoughts.  Yet  one  thing  I  did  not  detect.  She 
showed  no  disposition  to  turn  back  on  the  course  on 
which  she  had  entered  by  coming  to  us  in  the  first 
place. 


THE  ELECTRO-MAGNETIC  GUN      19 

Kennedy  was  quickly  and  deftly  testing  the  stub 
of  the  little  thin,  gold-tipped  cigarette. 

"Excessive  smoking,"  he  remarked  casually, 
"causes  neuroses  of  the  heart  and  tobacco  has  a  spe- 
cific affinity  for  the  coronary  arteries  as  well  as  a 
tremendous  effect  on  the  vagus  nerve.  But  I  don't 
think  this  was  any  ordinary  smoke." 

He  had  finished  his  tests  and  a  quiet  smile  of  satis- 
faction flitted  momentarily  over  his  face.  We  had 
been  watching  him  anxiously,  wondering  what  he 
had  found. 

As  he  looked  up  he  remarked  to  us,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  Miss  Lowe,  "That  was  a  ladies'  cigarette. 
Did  you  notice  the  size?  There  has  been  a  woman 
in  this  case — presumably." 

The  girl,  suddenly  transformed  by  the  rapid-fire 
succession  of  discoveries,  stood  before  us  like  a  spec- 
ter. 

"The  'Group,'  as  anarchists  call  it,"  pursued 
Craig,  "is  the  loosest  sort  of  organization  conceiv- 
able, I  believe,  with  no  set  membership,  no  officers, 
no  laws — just  a  place  of  meeting  with  no  fixity, 
where  the  comrades  get  together.  Could  you  get  us 
into  the  inner  circle,  Miss  Lowe?" 

Her  only  answer  was  a  little  suppressed  scream. 
Kennedy  had  asked  the  question  merely  for  its  ef- 
fect, for  it  was  only  too  evident  that  there  was  no 
time,  even  if  she  could  have  managed  it,  for  us  to 
play  the  "stool  pigeon." 

Kennedy,  who  had  been  clearing  up  the  materials 
he  had  used  in  the  analysis  of  the  cigarette,  wheeled 
about  suddenly.  "Where  is  the  headquarters  of  the 
inner  circle?"  he  shot  out. 

Miss  Lowe  hesitated.  That  had  evidently  been 
one  of  the  things  she  had  determined  not  to  divulge. 


20  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"Tell  me,"  insisted  Kennedy.     "You  must!" 

If  it  had  been  Burke's  bulldozing  she  would  never 
have  yielded.  But  as  she  looked  into  Kennedy's 
eyes  she  read  there  that  he  had  long  since  fathomed 
the  secret  of  her  wildly  beating  heart,  that  if  she 
would  accomplish  the  purpose  of  saving  the  Baron 
she  must  stop  at  nothing. 

"At — Maplehurst,"  she  answered  in  a  low  tone, 
dropping  her  eyes  from  his  penetrating  gaze,  "Pro- 
fessor Annenberg's  home — out  on  Long  Island." 

"We  must  act  swiftly  if  we  are  to  succeed,"  con- 
sidered Kennedy,  his  tone  betraying  rather  sympa- 
thy with  than  triumph  over  the  wretched  girl  who 
had  at  last  cast  everything  in  the  balance  to  out- 
weigh the  terrible  situation  into  which  she  had  been 
drawn.  "To  send  Miss  Lowe  for  that  fatal  list  of 
assassinations  is  to  send  her  either  back  into  the 
power  of  this  murderous  group  and  let  them  know 
that  she  has  told  us,  or  perhaps  to  involve  her  again 
in  the  completion  of  their  plans." 

She  sank  back  into  a  chair  in  complete  nervous 
and  physical  collapse,  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands  at  the  realization  that  in  her  new-found  pas- 
sion to  save  the  Baron  she  had  bared  her  sensitive 
soul  for  the  dissection  of  three  men  whom  she  had 
never  seen  before. 

"We  must  have  that  list,"  pursued  Kennedy  de- 
cisively. "We  must  visit  Annenberg's  headquar- 
ters." 

"And  I?"  she  asked,  trembling  now  with  genuine 
fear  at  the  thought  that  he  might  ask  her  to  accom- 
pany us  as  he  had  on  our  visit  to  Fortescue's  labora- 
tory that  morning. 

"Miss  Lowe,"  said  Kennedy,  bending  over  her, 
"you  have  gone  too  far  now  ever  to  turn  back.  You 


THE  ELECTRO-MAGNETIC  GUN      21 

are  not  equal  to  the  trip.  Would  you  like  to  re- 
main here?  No  one  will  suspect.  Here  at  least 
you  will  be  safe  until  we  return." 

Her  answer  was  a  mute  expression  of  thanks  and 
confidence. 


CHAPTER    III 

THE  MURDER  SYNDICATE 

Quickly  now  Craig  completed  his  arrangements 
for  the  visit  to  the  headquarters  of  the  real  anar- 
chist leader.  Burke  telephoned  for  a  high-powered 
car,  while  Miss  Lowe  told  frankly  of  the  habits  of 
Annenberg  and  the  chances  of  finding  his  place  un- 
guarded, which  were  good  in  the  daytime.  Ken- 
nedy's only  equipment  for  the  excursion  consisted  in 
a  small  package  which  he  took  from  a  cabinet  at  the 
end  of  the  room,  and,  with  a  parting  reassurance  to 
Paula  Lowe,  we  were  soon  speeding  over  the  bridge 
to  the  borough  across  the  river. 

We  realized  that  it  might  prove  a  desperate  un- 
dertaking, but  the  crisis  was  such  that  it  called  for 
any  risk. 

Our  quest  took  us  to  a  rather  dilapidated  old 
house  on  the  outskirts  of  the  little  Long  Island  town. 
The  house  stood  alone,  not  far  from  the  tracks  of 
a  trolley  that  ran  at  infrequent  intervals.  Even  a 
hasty  reconnoitering  showed  that  to  stop  our  motor 
at  even  a  reasonable  distance  from  it  was  in  itself 
to  arouse  suspicion. 

Although  the  house,  seemed  deserted,  Craig  took 
no  chances,  but  directed  the  car  to  turn  at  the  next 
crossroad  and  then  run  back  along  a  road  back  of 
and  parallel  to  that  on  which  Annenberg's  was  situ- 
ated.    It  was  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away, 

22 


THE  MURDER  SYNDICATE  23 

across  an  open  field,  that  we  stopped  and  ran  the 
car  up  along  the  side  of  the  road  in  some  bushes. 
Annenberg's  was  plainly  visible  and  it  was  not  at  all 
likely  that  anyone  there  would  suspect  trouble  from 
that  quarter. 

A  hasty  conference  with  Burke  followed,  in  which 
Kennedy  unwrapped  his  small  package,  leaving  part 
of  its  contents  with  him,  and  adding  careful  instruc- 
tions. 

Then  Kennedy  and  I  retraced  our  steps  down  the 
road,  across  by  the  crossroad,  and  at  last  back  to 
the  mysterious  house. 

To  all  appearance  there  had  been  no  need  of  such 
excessive  caution.  Not  a  sound  or  motion  greeted 
us  as  we  entered  the  gate  and  made  our  way  around 
to  the  rear  of  the  house.  The  very  isolation  of  the 
house  was  now  our  protection,  for  we  had  no  in- 
quisitive neighbors  to  watch  us  for  the  instant  when 
Kennedy,  with  the  dexterity  of  a  yeggman,  inserted 
his  knife  between  the  sashes  of  the  kitchen  window 
and  turned  the  catch  which  admitted  us. 

We  made  our  way  on  cautious  tiptoe  through  a 
dining  room  to  a  living  room,  and,  finding  nothing, 
proceeded  upstairs.  There  was  not  a  soul,  ap- 
parently, in  the  house,  nor  in  fact  anything  to  indi- 
cate that  it  was  different  from  most  small  suburban 
homes,  until  at  last  we  mounted  to  the  attic. 

It  was  finished  off  in  one  large  room  across  the 
back  of  the  house  and  two  in  front.  As  we  opened 
the  door  to  the  larger  room,  we  could  only  gaze 
about  in  surprise.  This  was  the  rendezvous,  the 
arsenal,  literary,  explosive  and  toxicological  of  the 
"Group."  Ranged  on  a  table  were  all  the  materials 
for  bomb-making,  while  in  a  cabinet  I  fancied  there 
were  poisons  enough  to  decimate  a  city. 


24  THE  WAR  TERROR 

On  the  walls  were  pictures,  mostly  newspaper 
prints,  of  the  assassins  of  McKinley,  of  King  Hum- 
bert, of  the  King  of  Greece,  of  King  Carlos  and 
others,  interspersed  with  portraits  of  anarchist  and 
anti-militarist  leaders  of  all  lands. 

Kennedy  sniffed.  Over  all  I,  too,  could  catch  the 
faint  odor  of  stale  tobacco.  No  time  was  to  be 
lost,  however,  and  while  Craig  set  to  work  rapidly 
going  through  the  contents  of  a  desk  in  the  corner,  I 
glanced  over  the  contents  of  a  drawer  of  a  heavy 
mission  table. 

"Here's  some  of  Annenberg's  literature,"  I  re- 
marked, coming  across  a  small  pile  of  manuscript, 
entitled  "The  Human  Slaughter  House." 

"Read  it,"  panted  Kennedy,  seeing  that  I  had 
about  completed  my  part  of  the  job.  "It  may  give 
a  clue." 

Hastily  I  scanned  the  mad,  frantic  indictment  of 
war,  while  Craig  continued  in  his  search: 

"I  see  wild  beasts  all  around  me,  distorted  un- 
naturally, in  a  life  and  death  struggle,  with  blood- 
shot eyes,  with  foaming,  gnashing  mouths.  They 
attack  and  kill  one  another  and  try  to  mangle  each 
other.  I  leap  to  my  feet.  I  race  out  into  the  night 
and  tread  on  quaking  flesh,  step  on  hard  heads,  and 
stumble  over  weapons  and  helmets.  Something  is 
clutching  at  my  feet  like  hands,  so  that  I  race  away 
like  a  hunted  deer  with  the  hounds  at  his  heels — and 
ever  over  more  bodies — breathless  .  .  .  out  of  one 
field  into  another.  Horror  is  crooning  over  my 
head.  Horror  is  crooning  beneath  my  feet.  And 
nothing  but  dying,  mangled  flesh ! 

"Of  a  sudden  I  see  nothing  but  blood  before  me. 
The  heavens  have  opened  and  the  red  blood  pours 
in  through  the  windows.    Blood  wells  up  on  an  altar. 


THE  MURDER  SYNDICATE  25 

The  walls  run  blood  from  the  ceiling  to  the  floor 
and  ...  a  giant  of  blood  stands  before  me.  His 
beard  and  his  hair  drip  blood.  He  seats  himself 
on  the  altar  and  laughs  from  thick  lips.  The  black 
executioner  raises  his  sword  and  whirls  it  above  my 
head.  Another  moment  and  my  head  will  roll  down 
on  the  floor.  Another  moment  and  the  red  jet  will 
spurt  from  my  neck. 

"Murderers!  Murderers!  None  other  than 
murderers!" 

I  paused  in  the  reading.  "There's  nothing  here," 
I  remarked,  glancing  over  the  curious  document  for 
a  clue,  but  finding  none. 

"Well,"  remarked  Craig  contemplatively,  "one 
can  at  least  easily  understand  how  sensitive  and  im- 
aginative people  who  have  fallen  under  the  influence 
of  one  who  writes  in  that  way  can  feel  justified  in 
killing  those  responsible  for  bringing  such  horrors 
on  the  human  race.    Hello — what's  this?" 

He  had  discovered  a  false  back  of  one  of  the 
drawers  in  the  desk  and  had  jimmied  it  open.  On 
the  top  of  innumerable  papers  lay  a  large  linen  en- 
velope. On  its  face  it  bore  in  typewriting,  just  like 
the  card  on  the  drawer  at  Fortescue's,  "E-M  GUN." 

"It  is  the  original  envelope  that  contained  the 
final  plans  of  the  electro-magnetic  gun,"  he  ex- 
plained, opening  it. 

The  envelope  was  empty.  We  looked  at  each 
other  a  moment  in  silence.  What  had  been  done 
with  the  plans? 

Suddenly  a  bell  rang,  startling  me  beyond  meas- 
ure. It  was,  however,  only  the  telephone,  of  which 
an  extension  reached  up  into  the  attic-arsenal.  Some 
one,  who  did  not  know  that  we  were  there,  was  evi- 
dently calling  up. 


26  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Kennedy  quickly  unhooked  the  receiver  with  a 
hasty  motion  to  me  to  be  silent. 

"Hello,"  I  heard  him  answer.     "Yes,  this  is  it." 

He  had  disguised  his  voice.  I  waited  anxiously 
and  watched  his  face  to  gather  what  response  he 
received. 

"The  deuce!"  he  exclaimed,  with  his  hand  over 
the  transmitter  so  that  his  voice  would  not  be  heard 
at  the  other  end  of  the  line. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  asked  eagerly. 

"It  was  Mrs.  Annenberg — I  am  sure.  But  she 
was  too  keen  for  me.  She  caught  on.  There  must 
be  some  password  or  form  of  expression  that  they 
use,  which  we  don't  know,  for  she  hung  up  the  re- 
ceiver almost  as  soon  as  she  heard  me." 

Kennedy  waited  a  minute  or  so.  Then  he  whistled 
into  the  transmitter.  It  was  done  apparently  to  see 
whether  there  was  anyone  listening.  But  there  was 
no  answer. 

"Operator,  operator !"  he  called  insistently,  mov- 
ing the  hook  up  and  down.  "Yes,  operator.  Can 
you  tell  me  what  number  that  was  which  just 
called?" 

He  waited  impatiently. 

"Bleecker — 7180,"  he  repeated  after  the  girl. 
"Thank  you.    Information,  please." 

Again  we  waited,  as  Craig  tried  to  trace  the  call 
up. 

"What  is  the  street  address  of  Bleecker,  7180?" 
he  asked.  "Five  hundred  and  one  East  Fifth — a 
tenement.     Thank  you." 

"A  tenement?"  I  repeated  blankly. 

"Yes,"  he  cried,  now  for  the  first  time  excited. 
"Don't  you  begin  to  see  the  scheme?  I'li  wager  that 
Baron  Kreiger  has  been  lured  to  New  York  to  pur- 


THE  MURDER  SYNDICATE  27 

chase  the  electro-magnetic  gun  which  they  have 
stolen  from  Fortescue  and  the  British.  That  is  the 
bait  that  is  held  out  to  him  by  the  woman.  Call  up 
Miss  Lowe  at  the  laboratory  and  see  if  she  knows 
the  place." 

I  gave  central  the  number,  while  he  fell  to  at  the 
little  secret  drawer  of  the  desk  again.  The  grinding 
of  the  wheels  of  a  passing  trolley  interfered  some- 
what with  giving  the  number  and  I  had  to  wait  a 
moment. 

"Ah — Walter — here's  the  list!"  almost  shouted 
Kennedy,  as  he  broke  open  a  black-japanned  dis- 
patch box  in  the  desk. 

I  bent  over  it,  as  far  as  the  slack  of  the  telephone 
wire  of  the  receiver  at  my  ear  would  permit.  An- 
nenberg  had  worked  with  amazing  care  and  neat- 
ness on  the  list,  even  going  so  far  as  to  draw  at  the 
top,  in  black,  a  death's  head.  The  rest  of  it  was 
elaborately  prepared  in  flaming  red  ink. 

Craig  gasped  to  observe  the  list  of  world-famous 
men  marked  for  destruction  in  London,  Paris,  Ber- 
lin, Rome,  Vienna,  St.  Petersburg,  and  even  in  New 
York  and  Washington. 

"What  is  the  date  set?"  I  asked,  still  with  my 
ear  glued  to  the  receiver. 

"To-night  and  to-morrow,"  he  replied,  stuffing 
the  fateful  sheet  into  his  pocket. 

Rummaging  about  in  the  drawer  of  the  table,  I 
had  come  to  a  package  of  gold-tipped  cigarettes 
which  had  interested  me  and  I  had  left  them  out. 
Kennedy  was  now  looking  at  them  curiously. 

"What  is  to  be  the  method,  do  you  suppose?"  I 
asked. 

"By  a  poison  that  is  among  the  most  powerful, 
approaching  even  cyanogen,"  he  replied  confidently, 


28  THE  WAR  TERROR 

tapping  the  cigarettes.  "Do  you  smell  the  odor  in 
this  room?    What  is  it  like?" 

"Stale  tobacco,"  I  replied. 

"Exactly — nicotine.  Two  or  three  drops  on  the 
mouth-end  of  a  cigar  or  cigarette.  The  intended 
victim  thinks  it  is  only  natural.  But  it  is  the  purest 
form  of  the  deadly  alkaloid — fatal  in  a  few  minutes, 
too." 

He  examined  the  thin  little  cigarettes  more 
carefully.  "Nicotine,"  he  went  on,  "was  about  the 
first  alkaloid  that  was  recovered  from  the  body  by 
chemical  analysis  in  a  homicide  case.  That  is  the 
penetrating,  persistent  odor  you  smelled  at  Fortes- 
cue's  and  also  here.  It's  a  very  good  poison — if 
you  are  not  particular  about  being  discovered.  A 
pound  of  ordinary  smoking  tobacco  contains  from  a 
half  to  an  ounce  of  it.  It  is  almost  entirely  con- 
sumed by  combustion ;  otherwise  a  pipeful  would  be 
fatal.  Of  course  they  may  have  thought  that  in- 
vestigators would  believe  that  their  victims  were  in- 
veterate smokers.  But  even  the  worst  tobacco  fiend 
wouldn't  show  traces  of  the  weed  to  such  an  ex- 
tent." 

Miss  Lowe  answered  at  last  and  Kennedy  took 
the  telephone. 

"What  is  at  five  hundred  and  one  East  Fifth?"  he 
asked. 

"A  headquarters  of  the  Group  in  the  city,"  she 
answered.     "Why?" 

"Well,  I  believe  that  the  plans  of  that  gun  are 
there  and  that  the  Baron " 

"You  damned  spies!"  came  a  voice  from  behind 
us. 

Kennedy  dropped  the  receiver,  turning  quickly,  his 
automatic  gleaming  in  his  hand. 


THE  MURDER  SYNDICATE  29 

There  was  just  a  glimpse  of  a  man  with  glitter- 
ing bright  blue  eyes  that  had  an  almost  fiendish,  bale- 
ful glare.  An  instant  later  the  door  which  had  so 
unexpectedly  opened  banged  shut,  we  heard  a  key 
turn  in  the  lock — and  the  man  dropped  to  the  floor 
before  even  Kennedy's  automatic  could  test  its  abil- 
ity to  penetrate  wood  on  a  chance  at  hitting  some- 
thing the  other  side  of  it. 

We  were  prisoners! 

My  mind  worked  automatically.  At  this  very 
moment,  perhaps,  Baron  Kreiger  might  be  nego- 
tiating for  the  electro-magnetic  gun.  We  had  found 
out  where  he  was,  in  all  probability,  but  we  were 
powerless  to  help  him.  I  thought  of  Miss  Lowe, 
and  picked  up  the  receiver  which  Kennedy  had 
dropped. 

She  did  not  answer.  The  wire  had  been  cut.  We 
were  isolated! 

Kennedy  had  jumped  to  the  window.  I  followed 
to  restrain  him,  fearing  that  he  had  some  mad 
scheme  for  climbing  out.  Instead,  quickly  he  placed 
a  peculiar  arrangement,  from  the  little  package  he 
had  brought,  holding  it  to  his  eye  as  if  sighting  it, 
his  right  hand  grasping  a  handle  as  one  holds  a 
stereoscope.  A  moment  later,  as  I  examined  it  more 
closely,  I  saw  that  instead  of  looking  at  anything  he 
had  before  him  a  small  parabolic  mirror  turned 
away  from  him. 

His  finger  pressed  alternately  on  a  button  on  the 
handle  and  I  could  see  that  there  flashed  in  the  little 
mirror  a  minute  incandescent  lamp  which  seemed  to 
have  a  special  filament  arrangement. 

The  glaring  sun  was  streaming  in  at  the  window 
and   I   wondered  what   could   possibly  be   accom- 


30  THE  WAR  TERROR 

plished  by  the  little  light  in  competition  with  the 
sun  itself. 

"Signaling  by  electric  light  in  the  daytime  may 
sound  to  you  ridiculous,"  explained  Craig,  still  in- 
dustriously flashing  the  light,  "but  this  arrangement 
with  Professor  Donath's  signal  mirror  makes  it  pos- 
sible, all  right. 

"I  hadn't  expected  this,  but  I  thought  I  might 
want  to  communicate  with  Burke  quickly.  You  see, 
I  sight  the  lamp  and  then  press  the  button  which 
causes  the  light  in  the  mirror  to  flash.  It  seems  a 
paradox  that  a  light  like  this  can  be  seen  from  a 
distance  of  even  five  miles  and  yet  be  invisible  to  one 
for  whom  it  was  not  intended,  but  it  is  so.  I  use  the 
ordinary  Morse  code — two  seconds  for  a  dot,  six 
for  a  dash  with  a  four-second  interval." 

"What  message  did  you  send?"  I  asked. 

"I  told  him  that  Baron  Kreiger  was  at  five  hun- 
dred and  one  East  Fifth,  probably;  to  get  the  secret 
service  office  in  New  York  by  wire  and  have  them 
raid  the  place,  then  to  come  and  rescue  us.  That 
was  Annenberg.  He  must  have  come  up  by  that 
trolley  we  heard  passing  just  before." 

The  minutes  seemed  ages  as  we  waited  for  Burke 
to  start  the  machinery  of  the  raid  and  then  come  for 
us. 

"No — you  can't  have  a  cigarette — and  if  I  had  a 
pair  of  bracelets  with  me,  I'd  search  you  myself," 
we  heard  a  welcome  voice  growl  outside  the  door  a 
few  minutes  later.  "Look  in  that  other  pocket, 
Tom." 

The  lock  grated  back  and  there  stood  Burke  hold- 
ing in  a  grip  of  steel  the  undersized  Annenberg, 
while  the  chauffeur  who  had  driven  our  car  swung 
open  the  door. 


THE  MURDER  SYNDICATE  31 

"I'd  have  been  up  sooner,"  apologized  Burke,  giv- 
ing the  anarchist  an  extra  twist  just  to  let  him  know 
that  he  was  at  last  in  the  hands  of  the  law,  "only 
I  figured  that  this  fellow  couldn't  have  got  far  away 
in  this  God-forsaken  Ducktown  and  I  might  as  well 
pick  him  up  while  I  had  a  chance.  That's  a  great 
little  instrument  of  yours,  Kennedy.  I  got  you, 
fine." 

Annenberg,  seeing  we  were  now  four  to  one,  con- 
cluded that* discretion  was  the  better  part  of  valor 
and  ceased  to  struggle,  though  now  and  then  I  could 
see  he  glanced  at  Kennedy  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eye.  To  every  question  he  maintained  a  stolid 
silence. 

A  few  minutes  later,  with  the  arch  anarchist  safely 
pinioned  between  us,  we  were  speeding  back  toward 
New  York,  laying  plans  for  Burke  to  dispatch  warn- 
ings abroad  to  those  whose  names  appeared  on  the 
fatal  list,  and  at  the  same  time  to  round  up  as  many 
of  the  conspirators  as  possible  in  America. 

As  for  Kennedy,  his  main  interest  now  lay  in 
Baron  Kreiger  and  Paula.  While  she  had  been 
driven  frantic  by  the  outcome  of  the  terrible  pact 
into  which  she  had  been  drawn,  some  one,  undoubt- 
edly, had  been  trying  to  sell  Baron  Kreiger  the  gun 
that  had  been  stolen  from  the  American  inventor. 
Once  they  had  his  money  and  he  had  received  the 
plans  of  the  gun,  a  fatal  cigarette  would  be  smoked. 
Could  we  prevent  it? 

On  we  tore  back  to  the  city,  across  the  bridge 
and  down  through  the  canyons  of  East  Side  streets. 

At  last  we  pulled  up  before  the  tenement  at  five 
hundred  and  one.  As  we  did  so,  one  of  Burke's 
men  jumped  out  of  the  doorway. 

"Are  we  in  time?"  shouted  Burke. 


32  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"It's  an  awful  mix-up,"  returned  the  man.  "I 
can't  make  anything  out  of  it,  so  I  ordered  'em  all 
held  here  till  you  came." 

We  pushed  past  without  a  word  of  criticism  of  his 
wonderful  acumen. 

On  the  top  floor  we  came  upon  a  young  man, 
bending  over  the  form  of  a  girl  who  had  fainted. 
On  the  floor  of  the  middle  of  the  room  was  a  mass 
of  charred  papers  which  had  evidently  burned  a 
hole  in  the  carpet  before  they  had  been  stamped 
out.  Near  by  was  an  unlighted  cigarette,  crushed 
flat  on  the  floor. 

"How  is  she?"  asked  Kennedy  anxiously  of  the 
young  man,  as  he  dropped  down  on  the  other  side 
of  the  girl. 

It  was  Paula.  She  had  fainted,  but  was  just  now 
coming  out  of  the  borderland  of  unconsciousness. 

"Was  I  in  time?  Had  he  smoked  it?"  she 
moaned  weakly,  as  there  swam  before  her  eyes,  evi- 
dently, a  hazy  vision  of  our  faces. 

Kennedy  turned  to  the  young  man. 

"Baron  Kreiger,  1  presume?"  he  inquired. 

The  young  man  nodded. 

"Burke  of  the  Secret  Service,"  introduced  Craig, 
indicating  our  friend.  "My  name  is  Kennedy.  Tell 
what  happened." 

"I  had  just  concluded  a  transaction,"  returned 
Kreiger  in  good  but  carefully  guarded  English. 
"Suddenly  the  door  burst  open.  She  seized  these 
papers  and  dashed  a  cigarette  out  of  my  hands.  The 
next  instant  she  had  touched  a  match  to  them  and 
had  fallen  in  a  faint  almost  in  the  blaze.  Strangest 
experience  I  ever  had  in  my  life.  Then  all  these 
other  fellows  came  bursting  in — said  they  were  Se- 
cret Service  men,  too." 


THE  MURDER  SYNDICATE  33 

Kennedy  had  no  time  to  reply,  for  a  cry  from 
Annenberg  directed  our  attention  to  the  next  room 
where  on  a  couch  lay  a  figure  all  huddled  up. 

As  we  looked  we  saw  it  was  a  woman,  her  head 
sweating  profusely,  and  her  hands  cold  and  clammy. 
There  was  a  strange  twitching  of  the  muscles  of  the 
face,  the  pupils  of  her  eyes  were  widely  dilated,  her 
pulse  weak  and  irregular.  Evidently  her  circula- 
tion had  failed  so  that  it  responded  only  feebly  to 
stimulants,  for  her  respiration  was  slow  and  labored, 
with  loud  inspiratory  gasps. 

Annenberg  had  burst  with  superhuman  strength 
from  Burke's  grasp  and  was  kneeling  by  the  side  of 
his  wife's  deathbed. 

"It — was    all    Paula's    fault "    gasped    the 

woman.  "I — knew  I  had  better — carry  it  through 
— like  the  Fortescue  visit — alone." 

I  felt  a  sense  of  reassurance  at  the  words.  At 
least  my  suspicions  had  been  unfounded.  Paula 
was  innocent  of  the  murder  of  Fortescue. 

"Severe,  acute  nicotine  poisoning,"  remarked 
Kennedy,  as  he  rejoined  us  a  moment  later.  "There 
is  nothing  we  can  do — now." 

Paula  moved  at  the  words,  as  though  they  had 
awakened  a  new  energy  in  her.  With  a  supreme 
effort  she  raised  herself. 

"Then  I — I  failed?"  she  cried,  catching  sight  of 
Kennedy. 

"No,  Miss  Lowe,"  he  answered  gently.  "You 
won.  The  plans  of  the  terrible  gun  are  destroyed. 
The  Baron  is  safe.  Mrs.  Annenberg  has  herself 
smoked  one  of  the  fatal  cigarettes  intended  for 
him." 

Kreiger  looked  at  us,  uncomprehending.  Ken- 
nedy picked  up  the  crushed,  unlighted  cigarette  and 


34  THE  WAR  TERROR 

laid  it  in  the  palm  of  his  hand  beside  another,  half 
smoked,  which  he  had  found  beside  Mrs.  Annen- 
berg. 

"They  are  deadly,"  he  said  simply  to  Kreiger. 
UA  few  drops  of  pure  nicotine  hidden  by  that  pretty 
gilt  tip  would  have  accomplished  all  that  the  bit- 
terest anarchist  could  desire." 

All  at  once  Kreiger  seemed  to  realize  what  he  had 
escaped  so  narrowly.  He  turned  toward  Paula. 
The  revulsion  of  her  feelings  at  seeing  him  safe 
was  too  much  for  her  shattered  nerves. 

With  a  faint  little  cry,  she  tottered. 

Before  any  of  us  could  reach  her,  he  had  caught 
her  in  his  arms  and  imprinted  a  warm  kiss  on  the 
insensible  lips. 

"Some  water — quick!"  he  cried,  still  holding  her 
close. 


CHAPTER   IV, 

THE  AIR  PIRATE 

Rounding  up  the  "Group"  took  several  days,  and 
it  proved  to  be  a  great  story  for  the  Star.  I  was 
pretty  fagged  when  it  was  all  over,  but  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  satisfaction  in  knowing  that  we  had 
frustrated  one  of  the  most  daring  anarchist  plots 
of  recent  years. 

"Can  you  arrange  to  spend  the  week-end  with 
me  at  Stuyvesant  Verplanck's  at  Bluff  wood?"  asked 
Kennedy  over  the  telephone,  the  afternoon  that  I 
had  completed  my  work  on  the  newspaper  of  un- 
doing what  Annenberg  and  the  rest  had  attempted. 

"How  long  since  society  took  you  up?"  I  asked 
airily,  adding,  "Is  it  a  large  house  party  you  are 
getting  up?" 

"You  have  heard  of  the  so-called  'phantom  bandit' 
of  Bluffwood,  haven't  you?"  he  returned  rather 
brusquely,  as  though  there  was  no  time  now  for  ban- 
tering. 

I  confess  that  in  the  excitement  of  the  anarchists 
I  had  forgotten  it,  but  now  I  recalled  that  for  sev- 
eral days  I  had  been  reading  little  paragraphs  about 
robberies  on  the  big  estates  on  the  Long  Island  shore 
of  the  Sound.  One  of  the  local  correspondents  had 
called  the  robber  a  "phantom  bandit,"  but  I  had 
thought  it  nothing  more  than  an  attempt  to  make 
good  copy  out  of  a  rather  ordinary  occurrence. 

35 


36  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"Well,"  he  hurried  on,  "that's  the  reason  why  I 
have  been  'taken  up  by  society,'  as  you  so  elegantly 
phrase  it.  From  the  secret  hiding-places  of  the 
boudoirs  and  safes  of  fashionable  women  at  Bluff- 
wood,  thousands  of  dollars'  worth  of  jewels  and 
other  trinkets  have  mysteriously  vanished.  Of 
course  you'll  come  along.  Why,  it  will  be  just  the 
story  to  tone  up  that  alleged  page  of  society  news 
you  hand  out  in  the  Sunday  Star.  There — we're 
quits  now.  Seriously,  though,  Walter,  it  really 
seems  to  be  a  very  baffling  case,  or  rather  series  of 
cases.  The  whole  colony  out  there  is  terrorized. 
They  don't  know  who  the  robber  is,  or  how  he 
operates,  or  who  will  be  the  next  victim,  but  his 
skill  and  success  seem  almost  uncanny.  Mr.  Ver- 
planck  has  put  one  of  his  cars  at  my  disposal  and 
I'm  up  here  at  the  laboratory  gathering  some  ap- 
paratus that  may  be  useful.  I'll  pick  you  up  any- 
where between  this  and  the  Bridge — how  about  Co- 
lumbus Circle  in  half  an  hour?" 

"Good,"  I  agreed,  deciding  quickly  from  his  tone 
and  manner  of  assurance  that  it  would  be  a  case  I 
could  not  afford  to  miss. 

The  Stuyvesant  Verplancks,  I  knew,  were  among 
the  leaders  of  the  rather  recherche  society  at  Bluff- 
wood,  and  the  pace  at  which  Bluffwood  moved  and 
had  its  being  was  such  as  to  guarantee  a  good  story 
in  one  way  or  another. 

"Why,"  remarked  Kennedy,  as  we  sped  out  over 
the  picturesque  roads  of  the  north  shore  of  Long 
Island,  "this  fellow,  or  fellows,  seems  to  have  taken 
the  measure  of  all  the  wealthy  members  of  the  ex- 
clusive organizations  out  there — the  Westport  Yacht 
Club,  the  Bluffwood  Country  Club,  the  North  Shore 
Hunt,  and  all  of  them.    It's  a  positive  scandal,  the 


THE  AIR  PIRATE  37 

ease  with  which  he  seems  to  come  and  go  withoul 
detection,  striking  now  here,  now  there,  often  at 
places  that  it  seems  physically  impossible  to  get  at, 
and  yet  always  with  the  same  diabolical  skill  and 
success.  One  night  he  will  take  some  baubles  worth 
thousands,  the  next  pass  them  by  for  something  ap- 
parently of  no  value  at  all,  a  piece  of  bric-a-brac,  a 
bundle  of  letters,  anything." 

"Seems  purposeless,  insane,  doesn't  it?"  I  put  in. 

"Not  when  he  always  takes  something — often 
more  valuable  than  money,"  returned  Craig. 

He  leaned  back  in  the  car  and  surveyed  the 
glimpses  of  bay  and  countryside  as  we  were  whisked 
by  the  breaks  in  the  trees. 

"Walter,"  he  remarked  meditatively,  "have  you 
ever  considered  the  possibilities  of  blackmail  if  the 
right  sort  of  evidence  were  obtained  under  this  new 
'white-slavery  act'?  Scandals  that  some  of  the  fast 
set  may  be  inclined  to  wink  at,  that  at  worst  used 
to  end  in  Reno,  become  felonies  with  federal  prison 
sentences  looming  up  in  the  background.  Think 
it  over." 

Stuyvesant  Verplanck  had  telephoned  rather  hur- 
riedly to  Craig  earlier  in  the  day,  retaining  his  ser- 
vices, but  telling  only  in  the  briefest  way  of  the  ex- 
tent of  the  depredations,  and  hinting  that  more  than 
jewelry  might  be  at  stake. 

It  was  a  pleasant  ride,  but  we  finished  it  in  si- 
lence. Verplanck  was,  as  I  recalled,  a  large  master- 
ful man,  one  of  those  who  demanded  and  liked  large 
things — such  as  the  estate  of  several  hundred  acres 
which  we  at  last  entered. 

It  was  on  a  neck  of  land  with  the  restless  waters 
of  the  Sound  on  one  side  and  the  calmer  waters  of 
the  bay  on  the  other.    Westport  Bay  lay  in  a  beau- 


38  THE  WAR  TERROR 

tifully  wooded,  hilly  country,  and  the  house  itself 
was  on  an  elevation,  with  a  huge  sweep  of  terraced 
lawn  before  it  down  to  the  water's  edge.  All  around, 
for  miles,  were  other  large  estates,  a  veritable  col- 
ony of  wealth. 

As  we  pulled  up  under  the  broad  stone  porte- 
cochere,  Verplanck,  who  had  been  expecting  us,  led 
the  way  into  his  library,  a  great  room,  literally 
crowded  with  curios  and  objects  of  art  which  he  had 
collected  on  his  travels.  It  was  a  superb  mental 
workshop,  overlooking  the  bay,  with  a  stretch  of 
several  miles  of  sheltered  water. 

"You  will  recall,"  began  Verplanck,  wasting  no 
time  over  preliminaries,  but  plunging  directly  into 
the  subject,  "that  the  prominent  robberies  of  late 
have  been  at  seacoast  resorts,  especially  on  the 
shores  of  Long  Island  Sound,  within,  say,  a  hundred 
miles  of  New  York.  There  has  been  a  great  deal  of 
talk  about  dark  and  muffled  automobiles  that  have 
conveyed  mysterious  parties  swiftly  and  silently 
across  country. 

"My  theory,"  he  went  on  self-assertively,  "is  that 
the  attack  has  been  made  always  along  water  routes. 
Under  shadow  of  darkness,  it  is  easy  to  slip  into  one 
of  the  sheltered  coves  or  miniature  fiords  with  which 
the  north  coast  of  the  Island  abounds,  land  a  cut- 
throat crew  primed  with  exact  information  of  the 
treasure  on  some  of  these  estates.  Once  the  booty 
is  secured,  the  criminal  could  put  out  again  into  the 
Sound  without  leaving  a  clue." 

He  seemed  to  be  considering  his  theory.  "Per- 
haps the  robberies  last  summer  at  Narragansett, 
Newport,  and  a  dozen  other  New  England  places 
were  perpetrated  by  the  same  cracksman.  I  be- 
lieve," he  concluded,  lowering  his  voice,  "that  there 


THE  AIR  PIRATE  39 

plies  to-day  on  the  wide  waters  of  the  Sound  a  slim, 
swift  motor  boat  which  wears  the  air  of  a  pleasure 
craft,  yet  is  as  black  a  pirate  as  ever  flew  the  Jolly 
Roger.  She  may  at  this  moment  be  anchored  off 
some  exclusive  yacht  club,  flying  the  respectable 
burgee  of  the  club — who  knows?" 

He  paused  as  if  his  deductions  settled  the  case  so 
far.  He  would  have  resumed  in  the  same  vein,  if 
the  door  had  not  opened.  A  lady  in  a  cobwebby 
gown  entered  the  room.  She  was  of  middle  age,  but 
had  retained  her  youth  with  a  skill  that  her  sisters 
of  less  leisure  always  envy.  Evidently  she  had  not 
expected  to  find  anyone,  yet  nothing  seemed  to  dis- 
concert her. 

"Mrs.  Verplanck,"  her  husband  introduced,  "Pro- 
fessor Kennedy  and  his  associate,  Mr.  Jameson — 
those  detectives  we  have  heard  about.  We  were  dis- 
cussing the  robberies." 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  smiling,  "my  husband  has 
been  thinking  of  forming  himself  into  a  vigilance 
committee.    The  local  authorities  are  all  at  sea." 

I  thought  there  was  a  trace  of  something  veiled  in 
the  remark  and  fancied,  not  only  then  but  later,  that 
there  was  an  air  of  constraint  between  the  couple. 

"You  have  not  been  robbed  yourself?"  queried 
Craig  tentatively. 

"Indeed  we  have,"  exclaimed  Verplanck  quickly. 
"The  other  night  I  was  awakened  by  the  noise  of 
some  one  down  here  in  this  very  library.  I  fired 
a  shot,  wild,  and  shouted,  but  before  I  could  get 
down  here  the  intruder  had  fled  through  a  window, 
and  half  rolling  down  the  terraces.  Mrs.  Verplanck 
was  awakened  by  the  rumpus  and  both  of  us  heard 
a  peculiar  whirring  noise." 

"Like  an  automobile  muffled  down,"  she  put  in. 


4o  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"No,"  he  asserted  vigorously,  "more  like  a  pow- 
erful motor  boat,  one  with  the  exhaust  under  water." 

"Well,"  she  shrugged,  "at  any  rate,  we  saw  no 
one." 

"Did  the  intruder  get  anything?" 

"That's  the  lucky  part.  He  had  just  opened  this 
safe  apparently  and  begun  to  ransack  it.  This  is 
my  private  safe.  Mrs.  Verplanck  has  another  built 
into  her  own  room  upstairs  where  she  keeps  her 
jewels." 

"It  is  not  a  very  modern  safe,  is  it?"  ventured 
Kennedy.  "The  fellow  ripped  off  the  outer  casing 
with  what  they  call  a  'can-opener.'  " 

"No.  I  keep  it  against  fire  rather  than  burglars. 
But  he  overlooked  a  box  of  valuable  heirlooms,  some 
silver  with  the  Verplanck  arms.  I  think  I  must  have 
scared  him  off  just  in  time.  He  seized  a  package  in 
the  safe,  but  it  was  only  some  business  correspond- 
ence. I  don't  relish  having  lost  it,  particularly.  It 
related  to  a  gentlemen's  agreement  a  number  of  us 
had  in  the  recent  cotton  corner.  I  suppose  the  Gov- 
ernment would  like  to  have  it.  But — here's  the 
point.  If  it  is  so  easy  to  get  in  and  get  away,  no 
one  in  Bluffwood  is  safe." 

"Why,  he  robbed  the  Montgomery  Carter  place 
the  other  night,"  remarked  Mrs.  Verplanck,  "and 
almost  got  a  lot  of  old  Mrs.  Carter's  jewels  as  well 
as  stuff  belonging  to  her  son,  Montgomery,  Junior. 
That  was  the  first  robbery.  Mr.  Carter,  that  is 
Junior — Monty,  everyone  calls  him — and  his  chauf- 
feur almost  captured  the  fellow,  but  he  managed  to 
escape  in  the  woods." 

"In  the  woods?"  repeated  Craig. 

Mrs.  Verplanck  nodded.  "But  they  saved  the 
loot  he  was  about  to  take." 


THE  AIK  PIRATE  4I 

"Oh,  no  one  is  safe  any  more,"  reiterated  Ver- 
planck.  "Carter  seems  to  be  the  only  one  who  has 
had  a  real  chance  at  him,  and  he  was  able  to  get 
away  neatly." 

"But  he's  not  the  only  one  who  got  off  without 

a  loss,"  she  put  in  significantly.  "The  last  visit " 

Then  she  paused. 

"Where  was  the  last  attempt?"  asked  Kennedy. 

"At  the  house  of  Mrs.  Hollingsworth — around 
the  point  on  this  side  of  the  bay.  You  can't  see  it 
from  here." 

"I'd  like  to  go  there,"  remarked  Kennedy. 

"Very  well.    Car  or  boat?" 

"Boat,  I  think." 

"Suppose  we  go  in  my  little  runabout,  the  Stream- 
line II f    She's  as  fast  as  any  ordinary  automobile." 

"Very  good.  Then  we  can  get  an  idea  of  the  har- 
bor." 

"I'll  telephone  first  that  we  are  coming,"  said 
Verplanck. 

"I  think  I'll  go,  too,"  considered  Mrs.  Verplanck, 
ringing  for  a  heavy  wrap. 

"Just  as  you  please,"  said  Verplanck. 

The  Streamline  was  a  three-stepped  boat  which 
Verplanck  had  built  for  racing,  a  beautiful  craft, 
managed  much  like  a  racing  automobile.  As  she 
started  from  the  dock,  the  purring  drone  of  her 
eight  cylinders  sent  her  feathering  over  the  waves 
like  a  skipping  stone.  She  sank  back  into  the  wa- 
ter, her  bow  leaping  upward,  a  cloud  of  spray  in  her 
wake,  like  a  waterspout. 

Mrs.  Hollingsworth  was  a  wealthy  divorcee,  liv- 
ing rather  quietly  with  her  two  children,  of  whom 
the  courts  had  awarded  her  the  care.  She  was  a 
striking  woman,  one  of  those  for  whom  the  new 

4 


42  THE  WAR  TERROR 

styles  of  dress  seem  especially  to  have  been  de- 
signed. I  gathered,  however,  that  she  was  not  on 
very  good  terms  with  the  little  Westport  clique  in 
which  the  Verplancks  moved,  or  at  least  not  with 
Mrs.  Verplanck.  The  two  women  seemed  to  regard 
each  other  rather  coldly,  I  thought,  although  Mr. 
Verplanck,  man-like,  seemed  to  scorn  any  distinc- 
tions and  was  more  than  cordial.  I  wondered  why 
Mrs.  Verplanck  had  come. 

The  Hollingsworth  house  was  a  beautiful  little 
place  down  the  bay  from  the  Yacht  Club,  but  not 
as  far  as  Verplanck's,  or  the  Carter  estate,  which 
was  opposite. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Hollingsworth  when  the  rea- 
son for  our  visit  had  been  explained,  "the  attempt 
was  a  failure.  I  happened  to  be  awake,  rather  late, 
or  perhaps  you  would  call  it  early.  I  thought  I 
heard  a  noise  as  if  some  one  was  trying  to  break 
into  the  drawing-room  through  the  window.  I 
switched  on  all  the  lights.  I  have  them  arranged  so 
for  just  that  purpose  of  scaring  off  intruders.  Then, 
as  I  looked  out  of  my  window  on  the  second  floor,  I 
fancied  I  could  see  a  dark  figure  slink  into  the 
shadow  of  the  shubbery  at  the  side  of  the  house. 
Then  there  was  a  whirr.  It  might  have  been  an 
automobile,  although  it  sounded  differently  from 
that — more  like  a  motor  boat.  At  any  rate,  there 
was  no  trace  of  a  car  that  we  could  discover  in  the 
morning.  The  road  had  been  oiled,  too,  and  a  car 
would  have  left  marks.  And  yet  some  one  was  here. 
There  were  marks  on  the  drawing-room  window  jusf 
where  I  heard  the  sounds." 

Who  could  it  be?  I  asked  myself  as  we  left.  I 
knew  that  the  great  army  of  chauffeurs  was  infested 
with  thieves,  thugs  and  gunmen.     Then,  too,  there 


THE  AIR  PIRATE  43 

were  maids,  always  useful  as  scouts  for  these  cor- 
sairs who  prey  on  the  rich.  Yet  so  adroitly  had 
everything  been  done  in  these  cases  that  not  a  clue 
seemed  to  have  been  left  behind  by  which  to  trace 
the  thief. 

We  returned  to  Verplanck's  in  the  Streamline  in 
record  time,  dined,  and  then  found  McNeill,  a  local 
detective,  waiting  to  add  his  quota  of  information. 
McNeill  was  of  the  square-toed,  double-chinned, 
bull-necked  variety,  just  the  man  to  take  along  if 
there  was  any  fighting.  He  had,  however,  very  little 
to  add  to  the  solution  of  the  mystery,  apparently 
believing  in  the  chauffeur-and-maid  theory. 

It  was  too  late  to  do  anything  more  that  night, 
and  we  sat  on  the  Verplanck  porch,  overlooking  the 
beautiful  harbor.  It  was  a  black,  inky  night,  with 
no  moon,  one  of  those  nights  when  the  myriad  lights 
on  the  boats  were  mere  points  in  the  darkness.  As 
we  looked  out  over  the  water,  considering  the  case 
which  as  yet  we  had  hardly  started  on,  Kennedy 
seemed  engrossed  in  the  study  in  black. 

"I  thought  I  saw  a  moving  light  for  an  instant 
across  the  bay,  above  the  boats,  and  as  though  it 
were  in  the  darkness  of  the  hills  on  the  other  side. 
Is  there  a  road  over  there,  above  the  Carter  house?" 
he  asked  suddenly. 

"There  is  a  road  part  of  the  way  on  the  crest  of 
the  hill,"  replied  Mrs.  Verplanck.  "You  can  see  a 
car  on  it,  now  and  then,  through  the  trees,  like  a 
moving  light." 

"Over  there,  I  mean,"  reiterated  Kennedy,  indi- 
cating the  light  as  it  flashed  now  faintly,  then  dis- 
appeared, to  reappear  further  along,  like  a  gigantic 
firefly  in  the  night. 

"N-no,"  said  Verplanck.    "I  don't  think  the  road 


44  THE  WAR  TERROR 

runs  down  as  far  as  that.    It  is  further  up  the  bay." 

"What  is  it  then?"  asked  Kennedy,  half  to  him- 
self. "It  seems  to  be  traveling  rapidly.  Now  it 
must  be  about  opposite  the  Carter  house.  There — 
it  has  gone." 

We  continued  to  watch  for  several  minutes,  but 
it  did  not  reappear.  Could  it  have  been  a  light  on 
the  mast  of  a  boat  moving  rapidly  up  the  bay  and 
perhaps  nearer  to  us  than  we  suspected?  Nothing 
further  happened,  however,  and  we  retired  early, 
expecting  to  start  with  fresh  minds  on  the  case  in 
the  morning.  Several  watchmen  whom  Verplanck 
employed  both  on  the  shore  and  along  the  drive- 
ways were  left  guarding  every  possible  entrance  to 
the  estate. 

Yet  the  next  morning  as  we  met  in  the  cheery  east 
breakfast  room,  Verplanck's  gardener  came  in,  hat 
in  hand,  with  much  suppressed  excitement. 

In  his  hand  he  held  an  orange  which  he  had  found 
in  the  shrubbery  underneath  the  windows  of  the 
house.  In  it  was  stuck  a  long  nail  and  to  the  nail  was 
fastened  a  tag. 

Kennedy  read  it  quickly. 

"If  this  had  been  a  bomb,  you  and  your  detectives 
frould  never  have  known  what  struck  you. 

"Aquaero." 


CHAPTER   V 

THE  ULTRA-VIOLET  RAT 

"Good  Gad,  man!"  exclaimed  Verplanck,  who 
had  read  it  over  Craig's  shoulder.  "What  do  you 
make  of  that?" 

Kennedy  merely  shook  his  head.  Mrs.  Verplanck 
was  the  calmest  of  all. 

"The  light,"  I  cried.  "You  remember  the  light? 
Could  it  have  been  a  signal  to  some  one  on  this  side 
of  the  bay,  a  signal  light  in  the  woods?" 

"Possibly,"  commented  Kennedy  absently,  adding, 
"Robbery  with  this  fellow  seems  to  be  an  art  as 
carefully  strategized  as  a  promoter's  plan  or  a  mer- 
chant's trade  campaign.  I  think  I'll  run  over  this 
morning  and  see  if  there  is  any  trace  of  anything  on 
the  Carter  estate." 

Just  then  the  telephone  rang  insistently.  It  was 
McNeill,  much  excited,  though  he  had  not  heard 
of  the  orange  incident.  Verplanck  answered  the 
call. 

"Have  you  heard  the  news?"  asked  McNeill. 
"They  report  this  morning  that  that  fellow  must 
have  turned  up  last  night  at  Belle  Aire." 

"Belle  Aire?  Why,  man,  that's  fifty  miles  away 
and  on  the  other  side  of  the  island.  He  was  here 
last  night,"  and  Verplanck  related  briefly  the  find 
of  the  morning.     "No  boat  could  get  around  the 

45 


46  THE  WAR  TERROR 

island  in  that  time  and  as  for  a  car — those  roads 
are  almost  impossible  at  night." 

"Can't  help  it,"  returned  McNeill  doggedly. 
"The  Halstead  estate  out  at  Belle  Aire  was  robbed 
last  night.     It's  spooky  all  right." 

"Tell  McNeill  I  want  to  see  him — will  meet  him 
in  the  village  directly,"  cut  in  Craig  before  Ver- 
planck  had  finished. 

We  bolted  a  hasty  breakfast  and  in  one  of  Ver- 
planck's  cars  hurried  to  meet  McNeill. 

"What  do  you  intend  doing?"  he  asked  help- 
lessly, as  Kennedy  finished  his  recital  of  the  queer 
doings  of  the  night  before. 

"I'm  going  out  now  to  look  around  the  Carter 
place.     Can  you  come  along?" 

"Surely,"  agreed  McNeill,  climbing  into  the  car. 
"You  know  him?" 

"No." 

"Then  I'll  introduce  you.  Queer  chap,  Carter. 
He's  a  lawyer,  although  I  don't  think  he  has  much 
practice,  except  managing  his  mother's  estate." 

McNeill  settled  back  in  the  luxurious  car  with 
an  exclamation  of  satisfaction. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Verplanck?"  he  asked. 

"He  seems  to  me  to  be  a  very  public-spirited 
man,"  answered  Kennedy  discreetly. 

That,  however,  was  not  what  McNeill  meant  and 
he  ignored  it.  And  so  for  the  next  ten  minutes  we 
were  entertained  with  a  little  retail  scandal  of  West- 
port  and  Bluffwood,  including  a  tale  that  seemed  to 
have  gained  currency  that  Verplanck  and  Mrs.  Hol- 
lingsworth  were  too  friendly  to  please  Mrs.  Ver- 
planck. I  set  the  whole  thing  down  to  the  hostility 
and  jealousy  of  the  towns  people  who  misinterpret 
everything  possible  in  the  smart  set,  although  I  could 


THE  ULTRA-VIOLET  RAY  47 

not  help  recalling  how  quickly  she  had  spoken  when 
we  had  visited  the  Hollingsworth  house  in  the 
Streamline  the  day  before. 

Montgomery  Carter  happened  to  be  at  home 
and,  at  least  openly,  interposed  no  objection  to  our 
going  about  the  grounds. 

"You  see,"  explained  Kennedy,  watching  the  ef- 
fect of  his  words  as  if  to  note  whether  Carter  him- 
self had  noticed  anything  unusual  the  night  before, 
"we  saw  a  light  moving  over  here  last  night.  To 
tell  the  truth,  I  half  expected  you  would  have  a 
story  to  add  to  ours,  of  a  second  visit." 

Carter  smiled.  "No  objection  at  all.  I'm  simply 
nonplussed  at  the  nerve  of  this  fellow,  coming  back 
again.  I  guess  you've  heard  what  a  narrow  squeak 
he  had  with  me.  You're  welcome  to  go  anywhere, 
just  so  long  as  you  don't  disturb  my  study  down 
there  in  the  boathouse.  I  use  that  because  it  over- 
looks the  bay — just  the  place  to  study  over  knotty 
legal  problems." 

Back  of,  or  in  front  of  the  Carter  house,  accord- 
ing as  you  fancied  it  faced  the  bay  or  not,  was  the 
boathouse,  built  by  Carter's  father,  who  had  been 
a  great  yachtsman  in  his  day  and  commodore  of  the 
club.  His  son  had  not  gone  in  much  for  water 
sports  and  had  converted  the  corner  underneath  a 
sort  of  observation  tower  into  a  sort  of  country  law 
office. 

"There  has  always  seemed  to  me  to  be  something 
strange  about  that  boathouse  since  the  old  man 
died,"  remarked  McNeill  in  a  half  whisper  as  we 
left  Carter.  "He  always  keeps  it  locked  and  never 
lets  anyone  go  in  there,  although  they  say  he  has  it 
fitted  beautifully  with  hundreds  of  volumes  of  law 
books,  too." 


48  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Kennedy  had  been  climbing  the  hill  back  of  the 
house  and  now  paused  to  look  about.  Below  was 
the  Carter  garage. 

"By  the  way,"  exclaimed  McNeill,  as  if  he  had 
at  last  hit  on  a  great  discovery,  "Carter  has  a  new 
chauffeur,  a  fellow  named  Wickham.  I  just  saw 
him  driving  down  to  the  village.  He's  a  chap  that 
it  might  pay  us  to  watch — a  newcomer,  smart  as  a 
steel  trap,  they  say,  but  not  much  of  a  talker." 

"Suppose  you  take  that  job — watch  him,"  en- 
couraged Kennedy.  "We  can't  know  too  much 
about  strangers  here,  McNeill." 

"That's  right,"  agreed  the  detective.  "I'll  follow 
him  back  to  the  village  and  get  a  line  on  him." 

"Don't  be  easily  discouraged,"  added  Kennedy, 
as  McNeill  started  down  the  hill  to  the  garage.  "If 
he  is  a  fox  he'll  try  to  throw  you  off  the  trail.  Hang 
on. 

"What  was  that  for?"  I  asked  as  the  detective 
disappeared.     "Did  you  want  to  get  rid  of  him?" 

"Partly,"  replied  Craig,  descending  slowly,  after 
a  long  survey  of  the  surrounding  country. 

We  had  reached  the  garage,  deserted  now  except 
for  our  own  car. 

"I'd  like  to  investigate  that  tower,"  remarked 
Kennedy  with  a  keen  look  at  me,  "if  it  could  be  done 
without  seeming  to  violate  Mr.  Carter's  hospi- 
tality." 

"Well,"  I  observed,  my  eye  catching  a  ladder  be- 
side the  garage,  "there's  a  ladder.  We  can  do  no 
more  than  try." 

He  walked  over  to  the  automobile,  took  a  little 
package  out,  slipped  it  into  his  pocket,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  we  had  set  the  ladder  up  against  the 
side  of  the  boathouse  farthest  away  from  the  house. 


THE  ULTRA-VIOLET  RAY  49 

It  was  the  work  of  only  a  moment  for  Kennedy  to 
scale  it  and  prowl  across  the  roof  to  the  tower,  while 
I  stood  guard  at  the  foot. 

"No  one  has  been  up  there  recently,"  he  panted 
breathlessly  as  he  rejoined  me.  "There  isn't  a 
sign." 

We  took  the  ladder  quietly  back  to  the  garage, 
then  Kennedy  led  the  way  down  the  shore  to  a  sort 
of  little  summerhouse  cut  off  from  the  boathouse 
and  garage  by  the  trees,  though  over  the  top  of 
a  hedge  one  could  still  see  the  boathouse  tower. 

We  sat  down,  and  Craig  filled  his  lungs  with  the 
good  salt  air,  sweeping  his  eye  about  the  blue  and 
green  panorama  as  though  this  were  a  holiday  and 
not  a  mystery  case. 

"Walter,"  he  said  at  length,  "I  wish  you'd  take 
the  car  and  go  around  to  Verplanck's.  I  don't  think 
you  can  see  the  tower  through  the  trees,  but  I  should 
like  to  be  sure." 

I  found  that  it  could  not  be  seen,  though  I  tried 
all  over  the  place  and  got  myself  disliked  by  the 
gardener  and  suspected  by  a  watchman  with  a  dog. 

It  could  not  have  been  from  the  tower  of  the  boat- 
house  that  we  had  seen  the  light,  and  I  hurried  back 
to  Craig  to  tell  him  so.  But  when  I  returned,  I 
found  that  he  was  impatiently  pacing  the  little  rustic 
summerhouse,  no  longer  interested  in  what  he  had 
sent  me  to  find  out. 

"What  has  happened?"  I  asked  eagerly. 

"Just  come  out  here  and  I'll  show  you  some- 
thing," he  replied,  leaving  the  summerhouse  and 
approaching  the  boathouse  from  the  other  side  of 
the  hedge,  on  the  beach,  so  that  the  house  itself  cut 
us  off  from  observation  from  Carter's. 

"I  fixed  a  lens  on  the  top  of  that  tower  when  I 


So  THE  WAR  TERROR 

was  up  there,"  he  explained,  pointing  up  at  it.  "It 
must  be  about  fifty  feet  high.  From  there,  you  see, 
it  throws  a  reflection  down  to  this  mirror.  I  did  it 
because  through  a  skylight  in  the  tower  I  could  read 
whatever  was  written  by  anyone  sitting  at  Carter's 
desk  in  the  corner  under  it." 

"Read?"  I  repeated,  mystified. 

"Yes,  by  invisible  light,"  he  continued.  "This  in- 
visible light  business,  you  know,  is  pretty  well  under- 
stood by  this  time.  I  was  only  repeating  what  was 
suggested  once  by  Professor  Wood  of  Johns  Hop- 
kins. Practically  all  sources  of  light,  you  under- 
stand, give  out  more  or  less  ultraviolet  light,  which 
plays  no  part  in  vision  whatever.  The  human  eye 
is  sensitive  to  but  few  of  the  light  rays  that  reach 
it,  and  if  our  eyes  were  constituted  just  the  least  bit 
differently  we  should  have  an  entirely  different  set 
of  images. 

"But  by  the  use  of  various  devices  we  can,  as  it 
were,  translate  these  ultraviolet  rays  into  terms  of 
what  the  human  eye  can  see.  In  order  to  do  it,  all 
the  visible  light  rays  which  show  us  the  thing  as  we 
see  it — the  tree  green,  the  sky  blue — must  be  cut 
off.  So  in  taking  an  ultraviolet  photograph  a  screen 
must  be  used  which  will  be  opaque  to  these  visible 
rays  and  yet  will  let  the  ultraviolet  rays  through  to 
form  the  image.  That  gave  Professor  Wood  a  lot 
of  trouble.  Glass  won't  do,  for  glass  cuts  off  the 
ultraviolet  rays  entirely.  Quartz  is  a  very  good 
medium,  but  it  does  not  cut  off  all  the  visible  light. 
In  fact  there  is  only  one  thing  that  will  do  the  work, 
and  that  is  metallic  silver." 

I  could  not  fathom  what  he  was  driving  at,  but 
the  fascination  of  Kennedy  himself  was  quite  suffi- 
cient. 


THE  ULTRA-VIOLET  RAY  51 

"Silver,"  he  went  on,  "is  all  right  if  the  objects 
can  be  illuminated  by  an  electric  spark  or  some  other 
source  rich  in  the  rays.  But  it  isn't  entirely  satisfac- 
tory when  sunlight  is  concerned,  for  various  reasons 
that  I  need  not  bore  you  with.  Professor  Wood  has 
worked  out  a  process  of  depositing  nickel  on  glass. 
That's  it  up  there,"  he  concluded,  wheeling  a  lower 
reflector  about  until  it  caught  the  image  of  the  after- 
noon sun  thrown  from  the  lens  on  the  top  of  the 
tower. 

"You  see,"  he  resumed,  "that  upper  lens  is  con- 
cave so  that  it  enlarges  tremendously.  I  can  do 
some  wonderful  tricks  with  that." 

I  had  been  lighting  a  cigarette  and  held  a  box  of 
safety  wind  matches  in  my  hand. 

"Give  me  that  matchbox,"  he  asked. 

He  placed  it  at  the  foot  of  the  tower.  Then  he 
went  off,  I  should  say,  without  exaggeration,  a  hun- 
dred feet. 

The  lettering  on  the  matchbox  could  be  seen  in 
the  silvered  mirror,  enlarged  to  such  a  point  that 
the  letters  were  plainly  visible ! 

"Think  of  the  possibilities  in  that,"  he  added  ex- 
citedly. "I  saw  them  at  once.  You  can  read  what 
some  one  is  writing  at  a  desk  a  hundred,  perhaps 
two  hundred  feet  away." 

"Yes,"  I  cried,  more  interested  in  the  practical 
aspects  of  it  than  in  the  mechanics  and  optics. 
"What  have  you  found?" 

"Some  one  came  into  the  boathouse  while  you 
were  away,"  he  said.  "He  had  a  note.  It  read, 
'Those  new  detectives  are  watching  everything.  We 
must  have  the  evidence.  You  must  get  those  letters 
to-night,  without  fail.'  " 


52  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"Letters — evidence,"  I  repeated.  "Who  wrote 
it?    Who  received  it?" 

"I  couldn't  see  over  the  hedge  who  had  entered 
the  boathouse,  and  by  the  time  I  got  around  here  he 
was  gone." 

"Was  it  Wickham — or  intended  for  Wickham?" 
I  asked. 

Kennedy  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"We'll  gain  nothing  by  staying  here,"  he  said. 
"There  is  just  one  possibility  in  the  case,  and  I  can 
guard  against  that  only  by  returning  to  Verplanck's 
and  getting  some  of  that  stuff  I  brought  up  here 
with  me.    Let  us  go." 

Late  in  the  afternoon  though  it  was,  after  our 
return,  Kennedy  insisted  on  hurrying  from  Ver- 
planck's to  the  Yacht  Club  up  the  bay.  It  was  a 
large  building,  extending  out  into  the  water  on  made 
land,  from  which  ran  a  long,  substantial  dock.  He 
had  stopped  long  enough  only  to  ask  Verplanck  to 
lend  him  the  services  of  his  best  mechanician,  a 
Frenchman  named  Armand. 

On  the  end  of  the  yacht  club  dock  Kennedy  and 
Armand  set  u£>  a  large  affair  which  looked  like  a 
mortar.  I  watched  curiously,  dividing  my  atten- 
tion between  them  and  the  splendid  view  of  the  har- 
bor which  the  end  of  the  dock  commanded  on  all 
sides. 

"What  is  this?"  I  asked  finally.     "Fireworks?" 

"A  rocket  mortar  of  light  weight,"  explained 
Kennedy,  then  dropped  into  French  as  he  explained 
to  Armand  the  manipulation  of  the  thing. 

There  was  a  searchlight  near  by  on  the  dock. 

"You  can  use  that?"  queried  Kennedy. 

"Oh,  yes.     Mr.  Verplanck,  he  is  vice-commodore 


THE  ULTRA-VIOLET  RAY  53 

of  the  club.  Oh,  yes,  I  can  use  that.  Why,  Mon- 
sieur  r 

Kennedy  had  uncovered  a  round  brass  case.  It 
did  not  seem  to  amount  to  much,  as  compared  to 
some  of  the  complicated  apparatus  he  had  used.  In 
it  was  a  four-sided  prism  of  glass — I  should  have 
said,  cut  off  the  corner  of  a  huge  glass  cube. 

He  handed  it  to  us. 

"Look  in  it,"  he  said. 

It  certainly  was  about  the  most  curious  piece  of 
crystal  gazing  I  had  ever  done.  Turn  the  thing 
any  way  I  pleased  and  I  could  see  my  face  in  it,  just 
as  in  an  ordinary  mirror. 

"What  do  you  call  it?"  Armand  asked,  much  in- 
terested. 

"A  triple  mirror,"  replied  Kennedy,  and  again, 
half  in  English  and  half  in  French,  neither  of  which 
I  could  follow,  he  explained  the  use  of  the  mirror 
to  the  mechanician. 

We  were  returning  up  the  dock,  leaving  Armand 
with  instructions  to  be  at  the  club  at  dusk,  when  we 
met  McNeill,  tired  and  disgusted. 

"What  luck?"  asked  Kennedy. 

"Nothing,"  he  returned.  "I  had  a  'short'  shadow 
and  a  'long'  shadow  at  Wickham's  heels  all  day. 
You  know  what  I  mean.  Instead  of  one  man,  two — 
the  second  sleuthing  in  the  other's  tracks.  If  he 
escaped  Number  One,  Number  Two  would  take  it 
up,  and  I  was  ready  to  move  up  into  Number  Two's 
place.  They  kept  him  in  sight  about  all  the  time. 
Not  a  fact.  But  then,  of  course,  we  don't  know 
what  he  was  doing  before  we  took  up  tailing  him. 
Say,"  he  added,  "I  have  just  got  word  from  an 
agency  with  which  I  correspond  in  New  York  that 
it  is   reported  that  a  yeggman   named  'Australia 


54  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Mac,'  a  very  daring  and  clever  chap,  has  been  at> 
tempting  to  dispose  of  some  of  the  goods  which  we 
know  have  been  stolen  through  one  of  the  worst 
'fences'  in  New  York." 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Craig,  with  the  mention  of 
Australia  Mac  showing  the  first  real  interest  yet  in 
anything  that  McNeill  had  done  since  we  met  him 
the  night  before. 

"All  so  far.  I  wired  for  more  details  imme- 
diately." 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  this  Australia 
Mac?" 

"Not  much.  No  one  does.  He's  a  new  man,  it 
seems,  to  the  police  here." 

"Be  here  at  eight  o'clock,  McNeill,"  said  Craig, 
as  we  left  the  club  for  Verplanck's.  "If  you  can 
find  out  more  about  this  yeggman,  so  much  the  bet- 
ter." 

"Have  you  made  any  progress?"  asked  Verplanck 
as  we  entered  the  estate  a  few  minutes  later. 

"Yes,"  returned  Craig,  telling  only  enough  to 
whet  his  interest.  "There's  a  clue,  as  I  half  ex- 
pected, from  New  York,  too.  But  we  are  so  far 
away  that  we'll  have  to  stick  to  my  original  plan. 
You  can  trust  Armand?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Then  we  shall  transfer  our  activity  to  the  Yacht 
Club  to-night,"  was  all  that  Kennedy  vouchsafed. 


CHAPTER    VI 

THE  TRIPLE  MIRROR 

It  was  the  regular  Saturday  night  dance  at  the 
club,  a  brilliant  spectacle,  faces  that  radiated  pleas- 
ure, gowns  that  for  startling  combinations  of  color 
would  have  shamed  a  Futurist,  music  that  set  the 
feet  tapping  irresistibly — a  scene  which  I  shall  pass 
over  because  it  really  has  no  part  in  the  story. 

The  fascination  of  the  ballroom  was  utterly  lost 
on  Craig.  "Think  of  all  the  houses  only  half 
guarded  about  here  to-night,"  he  mused,  as  we 
joined  Armand  and  McNeill  on  the  end  of  the  dock. 
I  could  not  help  noting  that  that  was  the  only  idea 
which  the  gay,  variegated,  sparkling  tango  throng 
conveyed  to  him. 

In  front  of  the  club  was  strung  out  a  long  line  of 
cars,  and  at  the  dock  several  speed  boats  of  national 
and  international  reputation,  among  them  the  fa- 
mous Streamline  II,  at  our  instant  beck  and  call.  In 
it  Craig  had  already  placed  some  rather  bulky  pieces 
of  apparatus,  as  well  as  a  brass  case  containing  a 
second  triple  mirror  like  that  which  he  had  left  with 
Armand. 

With  McNeill,  I  walked  back  along  the  pier,  leav- 
ing Kennedy  with  Armand,  until  we  came  to  the  wide 
porch,  where  we  joined  the  wallflowers  and  the  rock- 
ing-chair fleet.     Mrs.  Verplanck,   I  observed,  was 

55 


$6  THE  WAR  TERROR 

a  beautiful  dancer.  I  picked  her  out  in  the  throng 
immediately,  dancing  with  Carter. 

McNeill  tugged  at  my  sleeve.  Without  a  word 
I  saw  what  he  meant  me  to  see.  Verplanck  and 
Mrs.  Hollingsworth  were  dancing  together.  Just 
then,  across  the  porch  I  caught  sight  of  Kennedy  at 
one  of  the  wide  windows.  He  was  trying  to  attract 
Verplanck's  attention,  and  as  he  did  so  I  worked 
my  way  through  the  throng  of  chatting  couples  leav- 
ing the  floor  until  I  reached  him.  Verplanck,  ob- 
livious, finished  the  dance ;  then,  seeming  to  recollect 
that  he  had  something  to  attend  to,  caught  sight  of 
us,  and  ran  off  during  the  intermission  from  the  gay 
crowd  to  which  he  resigned  Mrs.  Hollingsworth. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"There's  that  light  down  the  bay,"  whispered 
Kennedy. 

Instantly  Verplanck  forgot  about  the  dance. 

"Where?"  he  asked. 

"In  the  same  place." 

I  had  not  noticed,  but  Mrs.  Verplanck,  woman- 
like, had  been  able  to  watch  several  things  at  once. 
She  had  seen  us  and  had  joined  us. 

"Would  you  like  to  run  down  there  in  the 
Streamline?"  he  asked.  "It  will  only  take  a  few 
minutes." 

"Very  much." 

"What  is  it — that  light  again?"  she  asked,  as  she 
joined  us  in  walking  down  the  dock. 

"Yes,"  answered  her  husband,  pausing  to  look  for 
a  moment  at  the  stuff  Kennedy  had  left  with  Ar- 
mand.  Mrs.  Verplanck  leaned  over  the  Streamline, 
turned  as  she  saw  me,  and  said:  "I  wish  I  could  go 
with  you.  But  evening  dress  is  not  the  thing  for  a 
shivery  night  in  a  speed  boat.     I  think  I  know  as 


THE  TRIPJLE  MIRROR  57 

much  about  it  as  Mr.  Verplanck.    Are  you  going  to 
leave  Armand?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Kennedy,  taking  his  place  beside 
Verplanck,  who  was  seated  at  the  steering  wheel. 
"Walter  and  McNeill,  if  you  two  will  sit  back  there, 
we're  ready.    All  right." 

Armand  had  cast  us  off  and  Mrs.  Verplanck 
waved  from  the  end  of  the  float  as  the  Streamline 
quickly  shot  out  into  the  night,  a  buzzing,  throbbing 
shape  of  mahogany  and  brass,  with  her  exhausts 
sticking  out  like  funnels  and  booming  like  a  pipe 
organ.  It  took  her  only  seconds  to  eat  into  the 
miles. 

"A  little  more  to  port,"  said  Kennedy,  as  Ver- 
planck swung  her  around. 

Just  then  the  steady  droning  of  the  engine  seemed 
a  bit  less  rhythmical.  Verplanck  throttled  her 
down,  but  it  had  no  effect.  He  shut  her  off.  Some- 
thing was  wrong.  As  he  crawled  out  into  the  space 
forward  of  us  where  the  engine  was,  it  seemed  as 
if  the  Streamline  had  broken  down  suddenly  and 
completely. 

Here  we  were  floundering  around  in  the  middle  of 
the  bay. 

"Chuck-chuck-chuck,"  came  in  quick  staccato  out 
of  the  night.  It  was  Montgomery  Carter,  alone,  on 
his  way  across  the  bay  from  the  club,  in  his  own 
boat. 

"Hello — Carter,"  called  Verplanck. 

"Hello,  Verplanck.    What's  the  matter?" 

"Don't  know.  Engine  trouble  of  some  kind.  Can 
you  give  us  a  line?" 

"I've  got  to  go  down  to  the  house,"  he  said, 
ranging  up  near  us.  "Then  I  can  take  you  back. 
Perhaps  I'd  better  get  you  out  of  the  way  of  any 


58  THE  WAR  TERROR 

other  boats  first.  You  don't  mind  going  over  and 
then  back?" 

Verplanck  looked  at  Craig.  "On  the  contrary," 
muttered  Craig,  as  he  made  fast  the  welcome  line. 

The  Carter  dock  was  some  three  miles  from  the 
club  on  the  other  side  of  the  bay.  As  we  came  up 
to  it,  Carter  shut  off  his  engine,  bent  over  it  a  mo- 
ment, made  fast,  and  left  us  with  a  hurried,  "Wait 
here." 

Suddenly,  overhead,  we  heard  a  peculiar  whirring 
noise  that  seemed  to  vibrate  through  the  air.  Some- 
thing huge,  black,  monster-like,  slid  down  a  board 
runway  into  the  water,  traveled  a  few  feet,  in  white 
suds  and  spray,  rose  in  the  darkness — and  was 
gone! 

As  the  thing  disappeared,  I  thought  I  could  hear 
a  mocking  laugh  flung  back  at  us. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked,  straining  my  eyes  at  what 
had  seemed  for  an  instant  like  a  great  flying  fish 
with  finny  tail  and  huge  fins  at  the  sides  and  above. 

"  'Aquaero,'  "  quoted  Kennedy  quickly.  "Don't 
you  understand — a  hydroaeroplane — a  flying  boat. 
There  are  hundreds  of  privately  owned  flying  boats 
now  wherever  there  is  navigable  water.  That  was 
the  secret  of  Carter's  boathouse,  of  the  light  we  saw 
in  the  air." 

"But  this  Aquaero — who  is  he?"  persisted  Mc- 
Neill.    "Carter— Wickham — Australia  Mac?" 

We  looked  at  each  other  blankly.  No  one  said  a 
word.  We  were  captured,  just  as  effectively  as  if 
we  were  ironed  in  a  dungeon.  There  were  the  black 
water,  the  distant  lights,  which  at  any  other  time  I 
should  have  said  would  have  been  beautiful. 

Kennedy  had  sprung  into  Carter's  boat. 


THE  TRIPLE  MIRROR  59 

"The  deuce,"  he  exclaimed.  "He's  put  her  out 
t  f  business." 

Verplanck,  chagrined,  had  been  going  over  his 
own  engine  feverishly.  "Do  you  see  that?"  he 
asked  suddenly,  holding  up  in  the  light  of  a  lantern 
a  little  nut  which  he  had  picked  out  of  the  compli- 
cated machinery.  "It  never  belonged  to  this  engine. 
Some  one  placed  it  there,  knowing  it  would  work  its 
way  into  a  vital  part  with  the  vibration." 

Who  was  the  person,  the  only  one  who  could  have 
done  it?  The  answer  was  on  my  lips,  but  I  re- 
pressed it.  Mrs.  Verplanck  herselt  had  been  bend- 
ing over  the  engine  when  last  I  saw  her.  All  at 
once  it  flashed  over  me  that  she  knew  more  about 
the  phantom  bandit  than  she  had  admitted.  Yet 
what  possible  object  could  she  have  had  in  putting 
the  Streamline  out  of  commission? 

My  mind  was  working  rapidly,  piecing  together 
the  fragmentary  facts.  The  remark  of  Kennedy, 
long  before,  instantly  assumed  new  significance. 
What  were  the  possibilities  of  blackmail  in  the  right 
sort  of  evidence?  The  yeggman  had  been  after 
what  was  more  valuable  than  jewels — letters! 
Whose?  Suddenly  I  saw  the  situation.  Carter  had 
not  been  robbed  at  all.  He  was  in  league  with  the 
robber.  That  much  was  a  blind  to  divert  suspicion. 
He  was  a  lawyer — some  one's  lawyer.  I  recalled  the 
message  about  letters  and  evidence,  and  as  I  did  so 
there  came  to  mind  a  picture  of  Carter  and  the 
woman  he  had  been  dancing  with.  In  return  for 
his  inside  information  about  the  jewels  of  the 
wealthy  homes  of  Bluffwood,  the  yeggman  was  to 
get  something  of  interest  and  importance  to  his 
client. 

The  situation  called  for  instant  action.    Yet  what 


60  THE  WAR  TERROR 

could  we  do,  marooned  on  the  other  side  of  the 
bay? 

From  the  Club  dock  a  long  finger  of  light  swept 
out  into  the  night,  plainly  enough  near  the  dock,  but 
diffused  and  disclosing  nothing  in  the  distance. 
Armand  had  trained  it  down  the  bay  in  the  direction 
we  had  taken,  but  by  the  time  the  beam  reached  us 
it  was  so  weak  that  it  was  lost. 

Craig  had  leaped  up  on  the  Carter  dock  and  was 
capping  and  uncapping  with  the  brass  cover  the 
package  which  contained  the  triple  mirror. 

Still  in  the  distance  I  could  see  the  wide  path  of 
light,  aimed  toward  us,  but  of  no  avail. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  I  asked. 

"Using  the  triple  mirror  to  signal  to  Armand.  It 
is  something  better  than  wireless.  Wireless  requires 
heavy  and  complicated  apparatus.  This  is  portable, 
heatless,  almost  weightless,  a  source  of  light  de- 
pending for  its  power  on  another  source  of  light  at 
a  great  distance." 

I  wondered  how  Armand  could  ever  detect  its 
feeble  ray. 

"Even  in  the  case  of  a  rolling  ship,"  Kennedy 
continued,  alternately  covering  and  uncovering  the 
mirror,  "the  beam  of  light  which  this  mirror  reflects 
always  goes  back,  unerring,  to  its  source.  It  would 
do  so  from  an  aeroplane,  so  high  in  the  air  that  it 
could  not  be  located.  The  returning  beam  is  in- 
visible to  anyone  not  immediately  in  the  path  of  the 
ray,  and  the  ray  always  goes  to  the  observer.  It 
is  simply  a  matter  of  pure  mathematics  practically 
applied.  The  angle  of  incidence  equals  the  angle  of 
reflection.  There  is  not  a  variation  of  a  foot  in 
two  miles." 


THE  TRIPLE  MIRROR  6r 

"What  message  are  you  sending  him?"  asked 
Verplanck. 

"To  tell  Mrs.  Hollingsworth  to  hurry  home  im- 
mediately," Kennedy  replied,  still  flashing*  the  let- 
ters according  to  his  code. 

"Mrs.  Hollingsworth?"  repeated  Verplanck, 
looking  up. 

"Yes.  This  hydroaeroplane  yeggman  is  after 
something  besides  jewels  to-night.  Were  those  let- 
ters that  were  stolen  from  you  the  only  ones  you 
had  in  the  safe?" 

Verplanck  looked  up  quickly.  "Yes,  yes.  Of 
course." 

"You  had  none  from  a  woman " 

"No,"  he  almost  shouted.  Of  a  sudden  it  seemed 
to  dawn  on  him  what  Kennedy  was  driving  at — the 
robbery  of  his  own  house  with  no  loss  except  of  a 
packet  of  letters  on  business,  followed  by  the  attempt 
on  Mrs.  Hollingsworth.  "Do  you  think  I'd  keep 
dynamite,  even  in  the  safe?" 

To  hide  his  confusion  he  had  turned  and  was 
bending  again  over  the  engine. 

"How  is  it?"  asked  Kennedy,  his  signaling  over. 

"Able  to  run  on  four  cylinders  and  one  propeller," 
replied  Verplanck. 

"Then  let's  try  her.  Watch  the  engine.  I'll  take 
the  wheel." 

Limping  along,  the  engine  skipping  and  missing, 
the  once  peerless  Streamline  started  back  across  the 
bay.  Instead  of  heading  toward  the  club,  Kennedy 
pointed  her  bow  somewhere  between  that  and  Ver- 
planck's. 

"I  wish  Arrtiand  would  get  busy,"  he  remarked, 
after  glancing  now  and  then  in  the  direction  of  the 
club.     "What  can  be  the  matter?"    - 


62  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  asked. 

There  came  the  boom  as  if  of  a  gun  far  away  in 
the  direction  in  which  he  was  looking,  then  another. 

"Oh,  there  it  is.  Good  fellow.  I  suppose  he  had 
to  deliver  my  message  to  Mrs.  Hollingsworth  him- 
self first." 

From  every  quarter  showed  huge  balls  of  fire, 
rising  from  the  sea,  as  it  were,  with  a  brilliantly 
luminous  flame. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked,  somewhat  startled. 

"A  German  invention  for  use  at  night  against  tor- 
pedo and  aeroplane  attacks.  From  that  mortar 
Armand  has  shot  half  a  dozen  bombs  of  phosphide 
of  calcium  which  are  hurled  far  into  the  darkness. 
They  are  so  constructed  that  they  float  after  a  short 
plunge  and  are  ignited  on  contact  by  the  action  of 
the  salt  water  itself." 

It  was  a  beautiful  pyrotechnic  display,  lighting  up 
the  shore  and  hills  of  the  bay  as  if  by  an  unearthly 
flare. 

"There's  that  thing  now!"  exclaimed  Kennedy. 

In  the  glow  we  could  see  a  peculiar,  birdlike  fig- 
ure flying  through  the  air  over  toward  the  Hollings- 
worth house.     It  was  the  hydroaeroplane. 

Out  from  the  little  stretch  of  lawn  under  the  ac- 
centuated shadow  of  the  trees,  she  streaked  into 
the  air,  swaying  from  side  to  side  as  the  pilot  oper- 
ated the  stabilizers  on  the  ends  of  the  planes  to  coun- 
teract the  puffs  of  wind  off  the  land. 

How  could  she  ever  be  stopped? 

The  Streamline,  halting  and  limping,  though  she 
was,  had  almost  crossed  the  bay  before  the  light 
bombs  had  been  fired  by  Armand.  Every  moment 
brought  the  flying  boat  nearer. 

She  swerved.    Evidently  the  pilot  had  seen  us  at 


THE  TRIPLE  MIRROR  63 

last  and  realized  who  we  were.  I  was  so  engrossed 
watching  the  thing  that  I  had  not  noticed  that  Ken- 
nedy had  given  the  wheel  to  Verplanck  and  was 
standing  in  the  bow,  endeavoring  to  sight  what 
looked  like  a  huge  gun. 

In  rapid  succession  half  a  dozen  shots  rang  out. 
I  fancied  I  could  almost  hear  the  ripping  and  tear- 
ing of  the  tough  rubber-coated  silken  wings  of  the 
hydroaeroplane  as  the  wind  widened  the  perfora- 
tion the  gun  had  made. 

She  had  not  been  flying  high,  but  now  she  swooped 
down  almost  like  a  gull,  seeking  to  rest  on  the  water. 
We  were  headed  toward  her  now,  and  as  the  flying 
boat  sank  I  saw  one  of  the  passengers  rise  in  his  seat, 
swing  his  arm,  and  far  out  something  splashed  in 
the  bay. 

On  the  water,  with  wings  helpless,  the  flying  boat 
was  no  match  for  the  Streamline  now.  She  struck 
at  an  acute  angle,  rebounded  in  the  air  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  with  a  hiss  skittered  along  over  the  waves, 
planing  with  the  help  of  her  exhaust  under  the  step 
of  the  boat. 

There  she  was,  a  hull,  narrow,  scow-bowed,  like  a 
hydroplane,  with  a  long  pointed  stern  and  a  cockpit 
for  two  men,  near  the  bow.  There  were  two  wide, 
winglike  planes,  on  a  light  latticework  of  wood 
covered  with  silk,  trussed  and  wired  like  a  kite 
frame,  the  upper  plane  about  five  feet  above  the 
lower,  which  was  level  with  the  boat  deck.  We 
could  see  the  eight-cylindered  engine  which  drove  a 
two-bladed  wooden  propeller,  and  over  the  stern 
were  the  air  rudder  and  the  horizontal  planes. 
There  she  was,  the  hobbled  steed  now  of  the  phan- 
tom bandit  who  had  accomplished  the  seemingly 
impossible. 


64  THE  WAR  TERROR 

In  spite  of  everything,  however,  the  flying  boat 
reached  the  shore  a  trifle  ahead  of  us.  As  she  did  so 
both  figures  in  her  jumped,  and  one  disappeared 
quickly  up  the  bank,  leaving  the  other  alone. 

"Verplanck,  McNeill — get  him,"  cried  Kennedy, 
as  our  own  boat  grated  on  the  beach.  "Come,  Wal- 
ter, we'll  take  the  other  one." 

The  man  had  seen  that  there  was  no  safety  in 
flight.  Down  the  shore  he  stood,  without  a  hat,  his 
hair  blown  pompadour  by  the  wind. 

As  we  approached  Carter  turned  superciliously, 
unbuttoning  his  bulky  khaki  life  preserver  jacket. 

"Well?"  he  asked  coolly. 

Not  for  a  moment  did  Kennedy  allow  the  assumed 
coolness  to  take  him  back,  knowing  that  Carter's 
delay  did  not  cover  the  retreat  of  the  other  man. 

"So,"  Craig  exclaimed,  "you  are  the — the  air 
pirate?" 

Carter  disdained  to  reply. 

"It  was  you  who  suggested  the  millionaire  house- 
holds, full  of  jewels,  silver  and  gold,  only  half 
guarded;  you,  who  knew  the  habits  of  the  people; 
you,  who  traded  that  information  in  return  for  an- 
other piece  of  thievery  by  your  partner,  Australia 
Mac — Wickham  he  called  himself  here  in  Bluff- 
wood.     It  was  you " 

A  car  drove  up  hastily,  and  I  noted  that  we  were 
still  on  the  Hollingsworth  estate.  Mrs.  Hollings- 
worth  had  seen  us  and  had  driven  over  toward  us. 

"Montgomery!"  she  cried,  startled. 

"Yes,"  said  Kennedy  quickly,  "air  pirate  and  law- 
yer for  Mrs.  Verplanck  in  the  suit  which  she  con- 
templated bringing " 

Mrs.  Hollingsworth  grew  pale  under  the  ghastly, 
flickering  light  from  the  bay. 


THE  TRIPLE  MIRROR  65 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  realizing  at  what  Kennedy 
hinted,  "the  letters!" 

"At  the  bottom  of  the  harbor,  now,"  said  Ken- 
nedy. "Mr.  Verplanck  tells  me  he  has  destroyed 
his.  The  past  is  blotted  out  as  far  as  that  is  con- 
cerned. The  future  is — for  you  three  to  determine. 
For  the  present  I've  caught  a  yeggman  and  a  black- 
mailer." 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE  WIRELESS  WIRETAPPERS 

Kexnedy  did  not  wait  at  Bluffwood  longer  than 
was  necessary.  It  was  easy  enough  now  to  silence 
Montgomery  Carter,  and  the  reconciliation  of  the 
Verplancks  was  assured.  In  the  Star  I  made  the 
case  appear  at  the  time  to  involve  merely  the  cap- 
ture of  Australia  Mac. 

When  I  dropped  into  the  office  the  next  day  as 
usual,  I  found  that  I  had  another  assignment  that 
would  take  me  out  on  Long  Island.  The  story 
looked  promising  and  I  was  rather  pleased  to  get  it. 

"Bound  for  Seaville,  I'll  wager,"  sounded  a  fa- 
miliar voice  in  my  ear,  as  I  hurried  up  to  the  train 
entrance  at  the  Long  Island  corner  of  the  Penn- 
sylvania Station. 

I  turned  quickly,  to  find  Kennedy  just  behind  me, 
breathless  and  perspiring. 

"Er — yes,"  I  stammered  in  surprise  at  seeing  him 
so  unexpectedly,  "but  where  did  you  come  from? 
How  did  you  know?" 

"Let  me  introduce  Mr.  Jack  Waldon,"  he  went 
on,  as  we  edged  our  way  toward  the  gate,  "the 
brother  of  Mrs.  Tracy  Edwards,  who  disappeared 
so  strangely  from  the  houseboat  Lucie  last  night  at 
Seaville.  That  is  the  case  you're  going  to  write  up, 
isn't  it?" 

It  was   then   for  the   first   time   that   I   noticed 

66 


THE  WIRELESS  WIRETAPPERS      67 

the  excited  young  man  beside  Kennedy  was  really 
his  companion. 

I  shook  hands  with  Waldon,  who  gave  me  a  grip 
that  was  both  a  greeting  and  an  added  impulse  in 
our  general  direction  through  the  wicket. 

"Might  have  known  the  Star  would  assign  you  to 
this  Edwards  case,"  panted  Kennedy,  mopping  his 
forehead,  for  the  heat  in  the  terminal  was  oppressive 
*nd  the  crowd,  though  not  large,  was  closely  packed. 
"Mr.  Jameson  is  my  right-hand  man,"  he  explained 
to  Waldon,  taking  us  each  by  the  arm  and  urging  us 
forward.  "Waldon  was  afraid  we  might  miss  the 
train  or  I  should  have  tried  to  get  you,  Walter,  at 
the  office." 

It  was  all  done  so  suddenly  that  they  quite  took 
away  what  remaining  breath  I  had,  as  we  settled 
ourselves  to  swelter  in  the  smoker  instead  of  in  the 
concourse.  I  did  not  even  protest  at  the  matter- 
of-fact  assurance  with  which  Craig  assumed  that  his 
deduction  as  to  my  destination  was  correct. 

Waldon,  a  handsome  young  fellow  in  a  flannel 
suit  and  yachting  cap  somewhat  the  worse  for  his 
evidently  perturbed  state  of  mind,  seemed  to  eye 
me  for  the  moment  doubtfully,  in  spite  of  Kennedy's 
cordial  greeting. 

"I've  had  all  the  first  editions  of  the  evening  pa- 
pers," I  hinted  as  we  sped  through  the  tunnel,  "but 
the  stories  seemed  to  be  quite  the  same — pretty 
meager  in  details." 

"Yes,"  returned  Waldon  with  a  glance  at  Ken- 
nedy, "I  tried  to  keep  as  much  out  of  the  papers  as 
I  could  just  now  for  Lucie's  sake." 

"You  needn't  fear  Jameson,"  remarked  Kennedy. 

He  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  then  paused  a  moment 


68  THE  WAR  TERROR 

and  shot  a  glance  of  inquiry  at  Waldon,  who  nodded 
a  mute  acquiescence  to  him. 

"There  seem  to  have  been  a  number  of  very  pe- 
culiar disappearances  lately,"  resumed  Kennedy, 
"but  this  case  of  Mrs.  Edwards  is  by  far  the  most 
extraordinary.  Of  course  the  Star  hasn't  had  that — 
yet,"  he  concluded,  handing  me  a  sheet  of  notepaper. 

"Mr.  Waldon  didn't  give  it  out,  hoping  to  avoid 
scandal." 

I  took  the  paper  and  read  eagerly,  in  a  woman's 
hand: 

"My  Dear  Miss  Fox:  I  have  been  down  here 
at  Seaville  on  our  houseboat,  the  Lucie,  for  several 
days  for  a  purpose  which  now  is  accomplished. 

"Already  I  had  my  suspicions  of  you,  from  a 
source  which  I  need  not  name.  Therefore,  when  the 
Kronprinz  got  into  wireless  communication  with  the 
station  at  Seaville  I  determined  through  our  own 
wireless  on  the  Lucie  to  overhear  whether  there 
would  be  any  exchange  of  messages  between  my  hus- 
band and  yourself. 

"I  was  able  to  overhear  the  whole  thing  and  I 
want  you  to  know  that  your  secret  is  no  longer  a 
secret  from  me,  and  that  I  have  already  told  Mr. 
Edwards  that  I  know  it.  You  ruin  his  life  by  your 
intimacy  which  you  seem  to  want  to  keep  up,  al- 
though you  know  you  have  no  right  to  do  it,  but  you 
shall  not  ruin  mine. 

"I  am  thoroughly  disillusioned  now.  I  have  not 
decided  on  what  steps  to  take,  but " 

Only  a  casual  glance  was  necessary  to  show  me 
that  the  writing  seemed  to  grow  more  and  more 
weak  as  it  progressed,  and  the  note  stopped  abruptly, 
as  if  the  writer  had  been  suddenly  interrupted  or 
some  new  idea  had  occurred  to  her. 


THE  WIRELESS  WIRETAPPERS      69 

Hastily  I  tried  to  figure  it  out.  Lucie  Waldon, 
as  everybody  knew,  was  a  famous  beauty,  a  marvel 
of  charm  and  daintiness,  slender,  with  big,  soulful, 
wistful  eyes.  Her  marriage  to  Tracy  Edwards,  the 
wealthy  plunger  and  stockbroker,  had  been  a  great 
social  event  the  year  before,  and  it  was  reputed  at 
the  time  that  Edwards  had  showered  her  with  jewels 
and  dresses  to  the  wonder  and  talk  even  of  society. 

As  for  Valerie  Fox,  I  knew  she  had  won  quick 
recognition  and  even  fame  as  a  dancer  in  New  York 
during  the  previous  winter,  and  I  recalled  reading 
three  or  four  days  before  that  she  had  just  returned 
on  the  Kronprinz  from  a  trip  abroad. 

'•'I  don't  suppose  you  have  had  time  to  see  Miss 
Fox,"  I  remarked.     "Where  is  she?" 

"At  Beach  Park  now,  I  think,"  replied  Waldon, 
"  a  resort  a  few  miles  nearer  the  city  on  the  south 
shore,  where  there  is  a  large  colony  of  actors." 

I  handed  back  the  letter  to  Kennedy. 

"What  do  you  make  of  it?"  he  asked,  as  he  folded 
it  up  and  put  it  back  into  his  pocket. 

"I  hardly  know  what  to  say,"  I  replied.  "Of 
course  there  have  been  rumors,  I  believe,  that  all 
was  not  exactly  like  a  honeymoon  still  with  the 
Tracy  Edwardses." 

"Yes,"  returned  Waldon  slowly,  "I  know  myself 
that  there  has  been  some  trouble,  but  nothing  defi- 
nite until  I  found  this  letter  last  night  in  my  sister's 
room.  She  never  said  anything  about  it  either  to 
mother  or  myself.  They  haven't  been  much  to- 
gether during  the  summer,  and  last  night  when  she 
disappeared  Tracy  was  in  the  city.  But  I  hadn't 
thought  much  about  it  before,  for,  of  course,  you 
know  he  has  large  financial  interests  that  make  him 
keep  in  pretty  close  touch  with  New  York  and  this 


70  THE  WAR  TERROR 

summer  hasn't  been  a  particularly  good  one  on  the 
stock  exchange." 

"And,"  I  put  in,  "a  plunger  doesn't  always  make 
the  best  of  husbands.  Perhaps  there  is  temperament 
to  be  reckoned  with  here." 

"There  seem  to  be  a  good  many  things  to  be  reck- 
oned with,"  Craig  considered.  "For  example,  here's 
a  houseboat,  the  Lucie,  a  palatial  affair,  cruising 
about  aimlessly,  with  a  beautiful  woman  on  it.  She 
gives  a  little  party,  in  the  absence  of  her  husband, 
to  her  brother,  his  fiancee  and  her  mother,  who  visit 
her  from  his  yacht,  the  Nautilus.  They  break  up, 
those  living  on  the  Lucie  going  to  their  rooms  and 
the  rest  back  to  the  yacht,  which  is  anchored  out  fur- 
ther in  the  deeper  water  of  the  bay. 

"Some  time  in  the  middle  of  the  night  her  maid, 
Juanita,  finds  that  she  is  not  in  her  room.  Her 
brother  is  summoned  back  from  his  yacht  and  finds 
that  she  has  left  this  pathetic,  unfinished  letter.  But 
otherwise  there  is  no  trace  of  her.  Her  husband  is 
notified  and  hurries  out  there,  but  he  can  find  no 
clue.  Meanwhile,  Mr.  Waldon,  in  despair,  hurries 
down  to  the  city  to  engage  me  quietly." 

"You  remember  I  told  you,"  suggested  Waldon, 
"that  my  sister  hadn't  been  feeling  well  for  several 
days.  In  fact  it  seemed  that  the  sea  air  wasn't  doing 
her  much  good,  and  some  one  last  night  suggested 
that  she  try  the  mountains." 

"Had  there  been  anything  that  would  foreshadow 
the — er — disappearance?"  asked  Kennedy. 

"Only  as  I  say,  that  for  two  or  three  days  she 
seemed  to  be  listless,  to  be  sinking  by  slow  and  easy 
stages  into  a  sort  of  vacant,  moody  state  of  ill 
health." 

"She  had  a  doctor,  I  suppose?"  I  asked. 


THE  WIRELESS  WIRETAPPERS       71 

"Yes,  Dr.  Jermyn,  Tracy's  own  personal  physi- 
cian came  down  from  the  city  several  days  ago." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  simply  said  that  it  was  congestion  of  the 
lungs.  As  far  as  he  could  see  there  was  no  apparent 
cause  for  it.  I  don't  think  he  was  very  enthusiastic 
about  the  mountain  air  idea.  The  fact  is  he  was 
like  a  good  many  doctors  under  the  circumstances, 
noncommittal — wanted  her  under  observation,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"What's  your  opinion?"  I  pressed  Craig.  "Do 
you  think  she  has  run  away?" 

"Naturally,  I'd  rather  not  attempt  to  say  yet," 
Craig  replied  cautiously.  "But  there  are  several 
possibilities.  Yes,  she  might  have  left  the  house- 
boat in  some  other  boat,  of  course.  Then  there  is 
the  possibility  of  accident.  It  was  a  hot  night.  She 
might  have  been  leaning  from  the  window  and  have 
lost  her  balance.  I  have  even  thought  of  drugs,  that 
she  might  have  taken  something  in  her  despondency 
and  have  fallen  overboard  while  under  the  influence 
of  it.  Then,  of  course,  there  are  the  two  deductions 
that  everyone  has  made  already — either  suicide  or 
murder." 

Waldon  had  evidently  been  turning  something 
over  in  his  mind. 

"There  was  a  wireless  outfit  aboard  the  house- 
boat," he  ventured  at  length. 

"What  of  that?"  I  asked,  wondering  why  he  was 
changing  the  subject  so  abruptly. 

"Why,  only  this,"  he  replied.  "I  have  been  read- 
ing about  wireless  a  good  deal  lately,  and  if  the 
theories  of  some  scientists  are  correct,  the  wireless 
age  is  not  without  its  dangers  as  well  as  its  won- 
ders.    I  recall  reading  not  long  ago  of  a  German 


72  THE  WAR  TERROR 

professor  who  says  there  is  no  essential  difference 
between  wireless  waves  and  the  X-rays,  and  we  know 
the  terrible  physical  effects  of  X-rays.  I  believe  he 
estimated  that  only  one  three  hundred  millionth  part 
of  the  electrical  energy  generated  by  sending  a  mes- 
sage from  one  station  to  another  near  by  is  actually 
used  up  in  transmitting  the  message.  The  rest  is 
dispersed  in  the  atmosphere.  There  must  be  a  good 
deal  of  such  stray  electrical  energy  about  Seaville. 
Isn't  it  possible  that  it  might  hit  some  one  some- 
where who  was  susceptible?" 

Kennedy  said  nothing.  Waldon's  was  at  least  a 
novel  idea,  whether  it  was  plausible  or  not.  The 
only  way  to  test  it  out,  as  far  as  I  could  determine, 
was  to  see  whether  it  fitted  with  the  facts  after  a 
careful  investigation  of  the  case  itself. 

It  was  still  early  in  the  day  and  the  trains  were 
not  as  crowded  as  they  would  be  later.  Conse- 
quently our  journey  was  comfortable  enough  and  we 
found  ourselves  at  last  at  the  little  vine-covered 
station  at  Seaville. 

One  could  almost  feel  that  the  gay  summer  col- 
ony was  in  a  state  of  subdued  excitement.  As  we 
left  the  quaint  station  and  walked  down  the  main 
street  to  the  town  wharf  where  we  expected  some 
one  would  be  waiting  for  us,  it  seemed  as  if  the  mys- 
terious disappearance  of  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Edwards 
had  put  a  damper  on  the  life  of  the  place.  In  the 
hotels  there  were  knots  of  people  evidently  discuss- 
ing the  affair,  for  as  we  passed  we  could  tell  by  their 
faces  that  they  recognized  us.  One  or  two  bowed 
and  would  have  joined  us,  if  Waldon  had  given  any 
encouragement.  But  he  did  not  stop,  and  we  kept 
on  down  the  street  quickly. 

I  myself  began  to  feel  the  spell  of  mystery  about 


THE  WIRELESS  WIRETAPPERS      73 

the  case  as  I  had  not  felt  it  among  the  distractions 
of  the  city.  Perhaps  I  imagined  it,  but  there  even 
seemed  to  be  something  strange  about  the  houseboat 
which  we  could  descry  at  anchor  far  down  the  bay 
as  we  approached  the  wharf. 

We  were  met,  as  Waldon  had  arranged,  by  a 
high-powered  runabout,  the  tender  to  his  own  yacht, 
a  slim  little  craft  of  mahogany  and  brass,  driven 
like  an  automobile,  and  capable  of  perhaps  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  miles  an  hour.  We  jumped  in  and 
were  soon  skimming  over  the  waters  of  the  bay  like 
a  skipping  stone. 

It  was  evident  that  Waldon  was  much  relieved  at 
having  been  able  to  bring  assistance,  in  which  he  had 
as  much  confidence  as  he  reposed  in  Kennedy.  At 
any  rate  it  was  something  to  be  nearing  the  scene  of 
action  again. 

The  Lucie  was  perhaps  seventy  feet  long  and  a 
most  attractive  craft,  with  a  hull  yachty  in  appear- 
ance and  of  a  type  which  could  safely  make  long 
runs  along  the  coast,  a  stanch,  seaworthy  boat,  of 
course  without  the  speed  of  the  regularly  designed 
yacht,  but  more  than  making  up  in  comfort  for 
those  on  board  what  was  lost  in  that  way.  Waldon 
pointed  out  with  obvious  pride  his  own  trim  yacht 
swinging  gracefully  at  anchor  a  half  mile  or  so 
away. 

As  we  approached  the  houseboat  I  looked  her 
over  carefully.  One  of  the  first  things  I  noticed  was 
that  there  rose  from  the  roof  the  primitive  inverted 
V  aerial  of  a  wireless  telegraph.  I  thought  imme- 
diately of  the  unfinished  letter  and  its  contents,  and 
shaded  my  eyes  as  I  took  a  good  look  at  the  power- 
ful transatlantic  station  on  the  spit  of  sand  perhaps 
three  or  four  miles  distant,  with  its  tall  steel  masts 

6 


74  THE  WAR  TERROR 

of  the  latest  inverted  L  type  and  the  cluster  of  little 
houses  below,  in  which  the  operators  and  the  plant 
were. 

Waldon  noticed  what  I  was  looking  at,  and  re- 
marked, "It's  a  wonderful  station — and  well  worth 
a  visit,  if  you  have  the  time — one  of  the  most  power- 
ful on  the  coast,  I  understand." 

"How  did  the  Lucie  come  to  be  equipped  with 
wireless?"  asked  Craig  quickly.  "It's  a  little  un- 
usual for  a  private  boat." 

"Mr.  Edwards  had  it  done  when  she  was  built," 
explained  Waldon.  "His  idea  was  to  use  it  to  keep 
in  touch  with  the  stock  market  on  trips." 

"And  it  has  proved  effective?"  asked  Craig. 

"Oh,  yes — that  is,  it  was  all  right  last  winter  when 
he  went  on  a  short  cruise  down  in  Florida.  This 
summer  he  hasn't  been  on  the  boat  long  enough  to 
use  it  much." 

"Who  operates  it?" 

"He  used  to  hire  a  licensed  operator,  although  I 
believe  the  engineer,  Pedersen,  understands  the 
thing  pretty  well  and  could  use  it  if  necessary." 

"Do  you  think  it  was  Pedersen  who  used  it  for 
Mrs.  Edwards?"  asked  Kennedy. 

"I  really  don't  know,"  confessed  Waldon.  "Pe- 
dersen denies  absolutely  that  he  has  touched  the 
thing  for  weeks.  I  want  you  to  quiz  him.  I  wasn't 
able  to  get  him  to  admit  a  thing." 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE  HOUSEBOAT  MYSTERY 

i 

We  had  by  this  time  swung  around  to  the  side 
of  the  houseboat.  I  realized  as  we  mounted  the 
ladder  that  the  marine  gasoline  engine  had  materi- 
ally changed  the  old-time  houseboat  from  a  mere 
scow  or  barge  with  a  low  flat  house  on  it,  moored 
in  a  bay  or  river,  and  only  with  difficulty  and  ex- 
pense towed  from  one  place  to  another.  Now  the 
houseboat  was  really  a  fair-sized  yacht. 

The  Lucie  was  built  high  in  order  to  give  plenty 
of  accommodation  for  the  living  quarters.  The  state- 
rooms, dining  rooms  and  saloon  were  really  rooms, 
with  seven  or  eight  feet  of  head  room,  and  furnished 
just  as  one  would  find  in  a  tasteful  and  expensive 
house. 

Down  in  the  hull,  of  course,  was  the  gasoline  mo- 
tor which  drove  the  propeller,  so  that  when  the 
owner  wanted  a  change  of  scene  all  that  was  neces- 
sary was  to  get  up  anchor,  start  the  motor  and  navi- 
gate the  yacht-houseboat  to  some  other  harbor. 

Edwards  himself  met  us  on  the  deck.  He  was  a 
tall  man,  with  a  red  face,  a  man  of  action,  of  out- 
door life,  apparently  a  hard  worker  and  a  hard 
player.  It  was  quite  evident  that  he  had  been  wait- 
ing for  the  return  of  Waldon  anxiously. 

"You  find  us  considerably  upset,  Professor  Ken- 

75 


76  THE  WAR  TERROR 

nedy,"  he  greeted  Craig,  as  his  brother-in-law  in- 
troduced us. 

Edwards  turned  and  led  the  way  toward  the  sa- 
loon. As  he  entered  and  bade  us  be  seated  in  the 
costly  cushioned  wicker  chairs  I  noticed  how  sump- 
tuously it  was  furnished,  and  particularly  its  me- 
chanical piano,  its  phonograph  and  the  splendid 
hardwood  floor  which  seemed  to  invite  one  to  dance 
in  the  cool  breeze  that  floated  across  from  one  set 
of  open  windows  to  the  other.  And  yet  in  spite  of 
everything,  there  was  that  indefinable  air  of  some- 
thing lacking,  as  in  a  house  from  which  the  woman 
is  gone. 

"You  were  not  here  last  night,  I  understand,"  re- 
marked Kennedy,  taking  in  the  room  at  a  glance. 

"Unfortunately,  no,"  replied  Edwards.  "Busi- 
ness has  kept  me  with  my  nose  pretty  close  to  the 
grindstone  this  summer.  Waldon  called  me  up  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  however,  and  I  started  down 
in  my  car,  which  enabled  me  to  get  here  before  the 
first  train.  I  haven't  been  able  to  do  a  thing  since 
I  got  here  except  just  wait — wait — wait.  I  confess 
that  I  don't  know  what  else  to  do.  Waldon  seemed 
to  think  we  ought  to  have  some  one  down  here — 
and  I  guess  he  was  right.  Anyhow,  I'm  glad  to  see 
you." 

I  watched  Edwards  keenly.  For  the  first  time  I 
realized  that  I  had  neglected  to  ask  Waldon  whether 
he  had  seen  the  unfinished  letter.  The  question  was 
unnecessary.     It  was  evident  that  he  had  not. 

"Let  me  see,  Waldon,  if  I've  got  this  thing 
straight,"  Edwards  went  on,  pacing  restlessly  up 
and  down  the  saloon.  "Correct  me  if  I  haven't. 
Last  night,  as  I  understand  it,  there  was  a  sort  of 
little  family  party  here,  you  and  Miss  Verrall  and 


THE  HOUSEBOAT  MYSTERY         77 

your  mother  from  the  Nautilus,  and  Mrs.  Edwards 
and  Dr.  Jermyn." 

"Yes,"  replied  Waldon  with,  I  thought,  a  touch 
of  defiance  at  the  words  "family  party."  He  paused 
as  if  he  would  have  added  that  the  Nautilus  would 
have  been  more  congenial,  anyhow,  then  added,  "We 
danced  a  little  bit,  all  except  Lucie.  She  said  she 
wasn't  feeling  any  too  well." 

Edwards  had  paused  by  the  door.  "If  you'll  ex- 
cuse me  a  minute,"  he  said,  "I'll  call  Jermyn  and 
Mrs.  Edwards'  maid,  Juanita.  You  ought  to  go 
over  the  whole  thing  immediately,  Professor  Ken- 
nedy." 

"Why  didn't  you  say  anything  about  the  letter  to 
him?"  asked  Kennedy  under  his  breath. 

"What  was  the  use?"  returned  Waldon.  "I  didn't 
know  how  he'd  take  it.  Besides,  I  wanted  your  ad- 
vice on  the  whole  thing.  Do  you  want  to  show  it 
to  him?" 

"Perhaps  it's  just  as  well,"  ruminated  Kennedy. 
"It  may  be  possible  to  clear  the  thing  up  without 
involving  anybody's  name.  At  any  rate,  some  one 
is  coming  down  the  passage  this  way." 

Edwards  entered  with  Dr.  Jermyn,  a  clean-shaven 
man,  youthful  in  appearance,  yet  approaching  mid- 
dle age.  I  had  heard  of  him  before.  He  had 
studied  several  years  abroad  and  had  gained  consid- 
erable reputation  since  his  return  to  America. 

Dr.  Jermyn  shook  hands  with  us  cordially  enough, 
made  some  passing  comment  on  the  tragedy,  and 
stood  evidently  waiting  for  us  to  disclose  our  hands. 

"You  have  been  Mrs.  Edwards'  physician  for 
some  time,  I  believe?"  queried  Kennedy,  fencing  for 
an  opening. 


78  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"Only  since  her  marriage,"  replied  the  doctor 
briefly. 

"She  hadn't  been  feeling  well  for  several  days, 
had  she?"  ventured  Kennedy  again. 

"No,"  replied  Dr.  Jermyn  quickly.  "I  doubt 
whether  I  can  add  much  to  what  you  already  know. 
I  suppose  Mr.  Waldon  has  told  you  about  her  ill- 
ness. The  fact  is,  I  suppose  her  maid  Juanita  will 
be  able  to  tell  you  really  more  than  I  can." 

I  could  not  help  feeling  that  Dr.  Jermyn  showed 
a  great  deal  of  reluctance  in  talking. 

"You  have  been  with  her  several  days,  though, 
haven't  you?" 

"Four  days,  I  think.  She  was  complaining  of 
feeling  nervous  and  telegraphed  me  to  come  down 
here.  I  came  prepared  to  stay  over  night,  but  Mr. 
Edwards  happened  to  run  down  that  day,  too,  and 
he  asked  me  if  I  wouldn't  remain  longer.  My  prac- 
tice in  the  summer  is  such  that  I  can  easily  leave  it 
with  my  assistant  in  the  city,  so  I  agreed.  Really, 
that  is  about  all  I  can  say.  I  don't  know  yet  what 
was  the  matter  with  Mrs.  Edwards,  aside  from  the 
nervousness  which  seemed  to  be  of  some  time  stand- 
ing." 

He  stood  facing  us,  thoughtfully  stroking  his  chin, 
as  a  very  pretty  and  petite  maid  nervously  entered 
and  stood  facing  us  in  the  doorway. 

"Come  in,  Juanita,"  encouraged  Edwards.  "I 
want  you  to  tell  these  gentlemen  just  what  you  told 
me  about  discovering  that  Madame  had  gone — and 
anything  else  that  you  may  recall  now." 

"It  was  Juanita  who  discovered  that  Madame  was 
gone,  you  know,"  put  in  Waldon. 

"How  did  you  discover  it?"  prompted  Craig. 
.    "It  was  very  hot,"  replied  the  maid,  "and  often 


THE  HOUSEBOAT  MYSTERY         79 

on  hot  nights  I  would  come  in  and  fan  Madame  since 
she  was  so  wakeful.  Last  night  I  went  to  the  door 
and  knocked.  There  was  no  reply.  I  called  to  her, 
'Madame,  madame.'  Still  there  was  no  answer. 
The  worst  I  supposed  was  that  she  had  fainted.  I 
continued  to  call." 

"The  door  was  locked?"  inquired  Kennedy. 

"Yes,  sir.  My  call  aroused  the  others  on  the 
boat.  Dr.  Jermyn  came  and  he  broke  open  the  door 
with  his  shoulder.  But  the  room  was  empty.  Ma- 
dame was  gone." 

"How  about  the  windows?"  asked  Kennedy. 

"Open.  They  were  always  open  these  nights. 
Sometimes  Madame  would  sit  by  the  window  when 
there  was  not  much  breeze." 

"I  should  like  to  see  the  room,"  remarked  Craig, 
with  an  inquiring  glance  at  Edwards. 

"Certainly,"  he  answered,  leading  the  way  down 
a  corridor. 

Mrs.  Edwards'  room  was  on  the  starboard  side, 
with  wide  windows  instead  of  portholes.  It  was  fur- 
nished magnificently  and  there  was  little  about  it 
that  suggested  the  nautical,  except  the  view  from  the 
window. 

"The  bed  had  not  been  slept  in,"  Edwards  re- 
marked as  we  looked  about  curiously. 

Kennedy  walked  over  quickly  to  the  wide  series 
of  windows  before  which  was  a  leather-cushioned 
window  seat  almost  level  with  the  window,  several 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  water.  It  was  by  this 
window,  evidently,  that  Juanita  meant  that  Mrs.  Ed- 
wards often  sat.  It  was  a  delightful  position,  but  I 
could  readily  see  that  it  would  be  comparatively  easy 
for  anyone  accidentally  or  purposely  to  fall. 

"I  think  myself,"  Waldon  remarked  to  Kennedy, 


80  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"that  it  must  have  been  from  the  open  window  that 
she  made  her  way  to  the  outside.  It  seems  that  all 
agree  that  the  door  was  locked,  while  the  window 
was  wide  open." 

"There  had  been  no  sound — no  cry  to  alarm 
you  ?"  shot  out  Kennedy  suddenly  to  Juanita. 

"No,  sir,  nothing.  I  could  not  sleep  myself,  and 
I  thought  of  Madame." 

"You  heard  nothing?"  he  asked  of  Dr.  Jermyn. 

"Nothing  until  I  heard  the  maid  call,"  he  replied 
briefly. 

Mentally  I  ran  over  again  Kennedy's  first  list  of 
possibilities — taken  off  by  another  boat,  accident, 
drugs,  suicide,  murder. 

Was  there,  I  asked  myself,  sufficient  reason  for 
suicide?  The  letter  seemed  to  me  to  show  too  proud 
a  spirit  for  that.  In  fact  the  last  sentence  seemed 
to  show  that  she  was  contemplating  the  surest 
method  of  revenge,  rather  than  surrender.  As  for 
accident,  why  should  a  person  fall  overboard  from 
a  large  houseboat  into  a  perfectly  calm  harbor? 
Then,  too,  there  had  been  no  outcry.  Somehow,  I 
could  not  seem  to  fit  any  of  the  theories  in  with  the 
facts.  Evidently  it  was  like  many  another  case,  one 
in  which  we,  as  yet,  had  insufficient  data  for  a  con- 
clusion. 

Suddenly  I  recalled  the  theory  that  Waldon  him- 
self had  advanced  regarding  the  wireless,  either 
from  the  boat  itself  or  from  the  wireless  station. 
For  the  moment,  at  least,  it  seemed  plausible  that 
she  might  have  been  seated  at  the  window,  that  she 
might  have  been  affected  by  escaped  wireless,  or  by 
electrolysis.  I  knew  that  some  physicians  had  de- 
scribed a  disease  which  they  attributed  to  wireless, 
a  sort  of  anemia  with  a  marked  diminution  in  the 


THE  HOUSEBOAT  MYSTERY         81 

number  of  red  corpuscles  in  the  blood,  due  partly 
to  the  overetherization  of  the  air  by  reason  of  the 
alternating  currents  used  to  generate  the  waves. 

"I  should  like  now  to  inspect  the  little  wireless 
plant  you  have  here  on  the  Lucie,"  remarked 
Kennedy.  "I  noticed  the  mast  as  we  were  approach- 
ing a  few  minutes  ago." 

I  had  turned  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  in  time  to 
catch  Edwards  and  Dr.  Jermyn  eyeing  each  other 
furtively.  Did  they  know  about  the  letter,  after  all, 
I  wondered?  Was  each  in  doubt  about  just  how 
much  the  other  knew? 

There  was  no  time  to  pursue  these  speculations. 
"Certainly,"  agreed  Mr.  Edwards  promptly,  leading 
the  way. 

Kennedy  seemed  keenly  interested  in  inspecting 
the  little  wireless  plant,  which  was  of  a  curious  type 
and  not  exactly  like  any  that  I  had  seen  before. 

"Wireless  apparatus,"  he  remarked,  as  he  looked 
it  over,  "is  divided  into  three  parts,  the  source  of 
power  whether  battery  or  dynamo,  the  making  and 
sending  of  wireless  waves,  including  the  key,  spark, 
condenser  and  tuning  coil,  and  the  receiving  appara- 
tus, head  telephones,  antenna?,  ground  and  detector." 

Pedersen,  the  engineer,  came  in  while  we  were 
looking  the  plant  over,  but  seemed  uncommunicative 
to  all  Kennedy's  efforts  to  engage  him  in  conversa- 
tion. 

"I  see,"  remarked  Kennedy,  "that  it  is  a  very 
compact  system  with  facilities  for  a  quick  change 
from  one  wave  length  to  another." 

"Yes,"  grunted  Pedersen,  as  averse  to  talking, 
evidently,  as  others  on  the  Lucie. 

"Spark  gap,  quenched  type,"  I  heard  Kennedy 
mutter  almost  to  himself,  with  a  view  to  showing 


82  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Pedersen  that  he  knew  something  about  it.  "Break 
system  relay — operator  can  overhear  any  interfer- 
ence while  transmitting — transformation  by  a  single 
throw  of  a  six-point  switch  which  tunes  the  oscillat- 
ing and  open  circuits  to  resonance.  Very  clever — 
very  efficient.  By  the  way,  Pedersen,  are  you  the 
only  person  aboard  who  can  operate  this?" 

"How  should  I  know?"  he  answered  almost 
surlily. 

"You  ought  to  know,  if  anybody,"  answered  Ken- 
nedy unruffled.  "I  know  that  it  has  been  operated 
within  the  past  few  days." 

Pedersen  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "You  might 
ask  the  others  aboard,"  was  all  he  said.  "Mr.  Ed- 
wards pays  me  to  operate  it  only  for  himself,  when 
he  has  no  other  operator." 

Kennedy  did  not  pursue  the  subject,  evidently 
from  fear  of  saying  too  much  just  at  present. 

"I  wonder  if  there  is  anyone  else  who  could  have 
operated  it,"  said  Waldon,  as  we  mounted  again  to 
the  deck. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Kennedy,  pausing  on  the 
way  up.  "You  haven't  a  wireless  on  the  Nautilus, 
have  you?" 

Waldon  shook  his  head.  "Never  had  any  par- 
ticular use  for  it  myself,"  he  answered. 

"You  say  that  Miss  Verrall  and  her  mother  have 
gone  back  to  the  city?"  pursued  Kennedy,  taking  care 
that  as  before  the  others  were  out  of  earshot. 

"Yes." 

"I'd  like  to  stay  with  you  to-night,  then,"  decided 
Kennedy.  "Might  we  go  over  with  you  now? 
There  doesn't  seem  to  be  anything  more  I  can  do 
here,  unless  we  get  some  news  about  Mrs.  Ed- 
wards." 


THE  HOUSEBOAT  MYSTERY         83 

Waldon  seemed  only  too  glad  to  agree,  and  no 
one  on  the  Lucie  insisted  on  our  staying. 

We  arrived  at  the  Nautilus  a  few  minutes  later, 
and  while  we  were  lunching  Kennedy  dispatched  the 
tender  to  the  Marconi  station  with  a  note. 

It  was  early  in  the  afternoon  when  the  tender  re- 
turned with  several  packages  and  coils  of  wire. 
Kennedy  immediately  set  to  work  on  the  Nautilus 
stretching  out  some  of  the  wire. 

"What  is  it  you  are  planning?"  asked  Waldon, 
to  whom  every  action  of  Kennedy  seemed  to  be  a 
mystery  of  the  highest  interest. 

"Improvising  my  own  wireless,"  he  replied,  not 
averse  to  talking  to  the  young  man  to  whom  he 
seemed  to  have  taken  a  fancy.  "For  short  dis- 
tances, you  know,  it  isn't  necessary  to  construct  an 
aerial  pole  or  even  to  use  outside  wires  to  receive 
messages.  All  that  is  needed  is  to  use  just  a  few 
wires  stretched  inside  a  room.  The  rest  is  just  the 
apparatus." 

I  was  quite  as  much  interested  as  Waldon.  "In 
wireless,"  he  went  on,  "the  signals  are  not  sent  in 
one  direction,  but  in  all,  so  that  a  person  within 
range  of  the  ethereal  disturbance  can  get  them  if 
only  he  has  the  necessary  receiving  apparatus.  This 
apparatus  need  not  be  so  elaborate  and  expensive  as 
used  to  be  thought  needful  if  a  sensitive  detector  is 
employed,  and  I  have  sent  over  to  the  station  for  a 
new  piece  of  apparatus  which  I  knew  they  had  in  al- 
most any  Marconi  station.  Why,  I've  got  wireless 
signals  using  only  twelve  feet  of  number  eighteen 
copper  wire  stretched  across  a  room  and  grounded 
with  a  water  pipe.  You  might  even  use  a  wire  mat- 
tress on  an  iron  bedstead." 


8.4  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"Can't  they  find  out  by — er,  interference?"  I 
asked,  repeating  the  term  I  had  so  often  heard. 

Kennedy  laughed.  "No,  not  for  radio  apparatus 
which  merely  receives  radiograms  and  is  not 
equipped  for  sending.  I  am  setting  up  only  one  side 
of  a  wireless  outfit  here.  All  I  want  to  do  is  to  hear 
what  is  being  said.  I  don't  care  about  saying  any- 
thing." 

He  unwrapped  another  package  which  had  been 
loaned  to  him  by  the  radio  station  and  we  watched 
him  curiously  as  he  tested  it  and  set  it  up.  Some 
parts  of  it  I  recognized  such  as  the  very  sensitive 
microphone,  and  another  part  I  could  have  sworn 
was  a  phonograph  cylinder,  though  Craig  was  so 
busy  testing  his  apparatus  that  now  we  could  not 
ask  questions. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  he  finished,  and 
we  had  just  time  to  run  up  to  the  dock  at  Seaville 
and  stop  off  at  the  Lucie  to  see  if  anything  had  hap- 
pened in  the  intervening  hours  before  dinner.  There 
was  nothing,  except  that  I  found  time  to  file  a  mes- 
sage to  the  Star  and  meet  several  fellow  newspaper 
men  who  had  been  sent  down  by  other  papers  on 
the  chance  of  picking  up  a  good  story. 

We  had  the  Nautilus  to  ourselves,  and  as  she  was 
a  very  comfortable  little  craft,  we  really  had  a  very 
congenial  time,  a  plunge  over  her  side,  a  good  din- 
ner, and  then  a  long  talk  out  on  deck  under  the 
stars,  in  which  we  went  over  every  phase  of  the 
case.  As  we  discussed  it,  Waldon  followed  keenly, 
and  it  was  quite  evident  from  his  remarks  that  he 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  Dr.  Jermyn  at  least 
knew  more  than  he  had  told  about  the  case. 

Still,  the  day  wore  away  with  no  solution  yet  of 
the  mystery, 


CHAPTER    IX 

THE  RADIO  DETECTIVE 

It  was  early  the  following  morning  when  a  launch 
drew  up  beside  the  Nautilus.  In  it  were  Edwards 
and  Dr.  Jermyn,  wildly  excited. 

"What's  the  matter?"  called  out  Waldon, 

"They — they  have  found  the  body,"  Edwards 
blurted  out. 

Waldon  paled  and  clutched  the  rail.  He  had 
thought  the  world  of  his  sister,  and  not  until  the  last 
moment  had  he  given  up  hope  that  perhaps  she 
might  be  found  to  have  disappeared  in  some  other 
way  than  had  become  increasingly  evident. 

"Where?"  cried  Kennedy.     "Who?" 

"Over  on  Ten  Mile  Beach,"  answered  Edwards. 
"Some  fishermen  who  had  been  out  on  a  cruise  and 
hadn't  heard  the  story.  They  took  the  body  to 
town,  and  there  it  was  recognized.  They  sent  word 
out  to  us  immediately." 

Waldon  had  already  spun  the  engine  of  his  ten- 
der, which  was  about  the  fastest  thing  afloat  about 
Seaville,  had  taken  Edwards  over,  and  we  were  off 
in  a  cloud  of  spray,  the  nose  of  the  boat  many  inches 
above  the  surface  of  the  water. 

In  the  little  undertaking  establishment  at  Seaville 
lay  the  body  of  the  beautiful  young  matron  about 
whom  so  much  anxiety  had  been  felt.  I  could  not 
help  thinking  what  an  end  was  this  for  the  incom- 

85 


86  THE  WAR  TERROR 

parable  beauty.  At  the  very  height  of  her  brief 
career  the  poor  little  woman's  life  had  been  sud- 
denly snuffed  out.  But  by  what?  The  body  had 
been  found,  but  the  mystery  had  been  far  from 
solved. 

As  Kennedy  bent  over  the  body,  I  heard  him 
murmur  to  himself,  "She  had  everything — every- 
thing except  happiness." 

"Was  it  drowning  that  caused  her  death?"  asked 
Kennedy  of  the  local  doctor,  who  also  happened  to 
be  coroner  and  had  already  arrived  on  the  scene. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  know,"  he 
said  doubtfully.  "There  was  congestion  of  the 
lungs — but  I — I  can't  say  but  what  she  might  have 
been  dead  before  she  fell  or  was  thrown  into  the 
water." 

Dr.  Jermyn  stood  on  one  side,  now  and  then  put- 
ting in  a  word,  but  for  the  most  part  silent  unless 
spoken  to.  Kennedy,  however,  was  making  a  most 
minute  examination. 

As  he  turned  the  beautiful  head,  almost  rever- 
ently, he  saw  something  that  evidently  attracted  his 
attention.  I  was  standing  next  to  him  and,  between 
us,  I  think  we  cut  off  the  view  of  the  others.  There 
on  the  back  of  the  neck,  carefully,  had  been  smeared 
something  transparent,  almost  skin-like,  which  had 
easily  escaped  the  attention  of  the  rest. 

Kennedy  tried  to  pick  it  off,  but  only  succeeded  in 
pulling  off  a  very  minute  piece  to  which  the  flesh 
seemed  to  adhere. 

"That's  queer,"  he  whispered  to  me.  "Water, 
naturally,  has  no  effect  on  it,  else  it  would  have 
been  washed  off  long  before.  Walter,"  he  added, 
"just  slip  across  the  street  quietly  to  the  drug  store 
and  get  me  a  piece  of  gauze  soaked  with  acetone." 


THE  RADIO  DETECTIVE  87 

As  quickly  and  unostentatiously  as  I  could  I  did 
so  and  handed  him  the  wet  cloth,  contriving  at  the 
same  time  to  add  Waldon  to  our  barrier,  for  I  could 
see  that  Kennedy  was  anxious  to  be  observed  as  little 
as  possible. 

"What  is  it?"  I  whispered,  as  he  rubbed  the 
transparent  skin-like  stuff  off,  and  dropped  the  gauze 
into  his  pocket. 

"A  sort  of  skin  varnish,"  he  remarked  under  his 
breath,  "waterproof  and  so  adhesive  that  it  resists 
pulling  off  even  with  a  knife  without  taking  the 
cuticle  with  it." 

Beneath,  as  the  skin  varnish  slowly  dissolved  un- 
der his  gentle  rubbing,  he  had  disclosed  several  very 
small  reddish  spots,  like  little  cuts  that  had  been 
made  by  means  of  a  very  sharp  instrument.  As  he 
did  so,  he  gave  them  a  hasty  glance,  turned  the  now 
stony  beautiful  head  straight  again,  stood  up,  and 
resumed  his  talk  with  the  coroner,  who  was  evidently 
getting  more  and  more  bewildered  by  the  case. 

Edwards,  who  had  completed  the  arrangements 
with  the  undertaker  for  the  care  of  the  body  as  soon 
as  the  coroner  released  it,  seemed  completely  un- 
nerved. 

"Jermyn,"  he  said  to  the  doctor,  as  he  turned 
away  and  hid  his  eyes,  "I  can't  stand  this.  The 
undertaker  wants  some  stuff  from  the — er — boat," 
his  voice  broke  over  the  name  which  had  been  hers. 
"Will  you  get  it  for  me?  I'm  going  up  to  a  hotel 
here,  and  I'll  wait  for  you  there.  But  I  can't  go  out 
to  the  boat — yet." 

"I  think  Mr.  Waldon  will  be  glad  to  take  you 
out  in  his  tender,"  suggested  Kennedy.  "Besides,  I 
feel  that  I'd  like  a  little  fresh  air  as  a  bracer,  too, 
after  such  a  shock." 


88  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"What  were  those  little  cuts?"  I  asked  as  Wal- 
don  and  Dr.  Jermyn  preceded  us  through  the  crowd 
outside  to  the  pier. 

"Some  one,"  he  answered  in  a  low  tone,  "has 
severed  the  pneumogastric  nerves." 

"The  pneumogastric  nerves?"  I  repeated. 

"Yes,  the  vagus  or  wandering  nerve,  the  so-called 
tenth  cranial  nerve.  Unlike  the  other  cranial  nerves, 
which  are  concerned  with  the  special  senses  or  dis- 
tributed to  the  skin  and  muscles  of  the  head  and 
neck,  the  vagus,  as  its  name  implies,  strays  down- 
ward into  the  chest  and  abdomen  supplying  branches 
to  the  throat,  lungs,  heart  and  stomach  and  forms 
an  important  connecting  link  between  the  brain  and 
the  sympathetic  nervous  system." 

We  had  reached  the  pier,  and  a  nod  from  Ken- 
nedy discouraged  further  conversation  on  the  sub- 
ject. 

A  few  minutes  later  we  had  reached  the  Lucie 
and  gone  up  over  her  side.  Kennedy  waited  until 
Jermyn  had  disappeared  into  the  room  of  Mrs.  Ed- 
wards to  get  what  the  undertaker  had  desired.  A 
moment  and  he  had  passed  quietly  into  Dr.  Jermyn's 
own  room,  followed  by  me.  Several  quick  glances 
about  told  him  what  not  to  waste  time  over,  and  at 
last  his  eye  fell  on  a  little  portable  case  of  medi- 
cines and  surgical  instruments.  He  opened  it  quickly 
and  took  out  a  bottle  of  golden  yellow  liquid. 

Kennedy  smelled  it,  then  quickly  painted  some  on 
the  back  of  his  hand.  It  dried  quickly,  like  an  artifi- 
cial skin.  He  had  found  a  bottle  of  skin  varnish  in 
Dr.  Jermyn's  own  medicine  chest! 

We  hurried  back  to  the  deck,  and  a  few  minutes 
later  the  doctor  appeared  with  a  large  package. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  coating  the  skin  by  a  sub- 


THE  RADIO  DETECTIVE  89 

stance  which  is  impervious  to  water,  smooth  and 
elastic?"  asked  Kennedy  quietly  as  Waldon's  tender 
sped  along  back  to  Seaville. 

"Why — er,  yes,"  he  said  frankly,  raising  his  eyes 
and  looking  at  Craig  in  surprise.  "There  have  been 
a  dozen  or  more  such  substances.  The  best  is  one 
which  I  use,  made  of  pyroxylin,  the  soluble  cotton  of 
commerce,  dissolved  in  amyl  acetate  and  acetone 
with  some  other  substances  that  make  it  perfectly 
sterile.     Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Because  some  one  has  used  a  little  bit  of  it  to 
cover  a  few  slight  cuts  on  the  back  of  the  neck  of 
Mrs.  Edwards." 

"Indeed?"  he  said  simply,  in  a  tone  of  mild  sur- 
prise. 

"Yes,"  pursued  Kennedy.  "They  seem  to  me  to 
be  subcutaneous  incisions  of  the  neck  with  a  very 
fine  scalpel  dividing  the  two  great  pneumogastric 
nerves.  Of  course  you  know  what  that  would  mean 
■ — the  victim  would  pass  away  naturally  by  slow  and 
easy  stages  in  three  or  four  days,  and  all  that  would 
appear  might  be  congestion  of  the  lungs.  They  are 
delicate  little  punctures  and  elusive  nerves  to  locate, 
but  after  all  it  might  be  done  as  painlessly,  as  simply 
and  as  safely  as  a  barber  might  remove  some  dead 
hairs.  A  country  coroner  might  easily  pass  over 
such  evidence  at  an  autopsy — especially  if  it  was  con- 
cealed by  skin  varnish." 

I  was  surprised  at  the  frankness  with  which  Ken- 
nedy spoke,  but  absolutely  amazed  at  the  coolness 
of  Jermyn.  At  first  he  said  absolutely  nothing.  He 
seemed  to  be  as  set  in  his  reticence  as  he  had  been 
when  we  first  met. 

I  watched  him  narrowly.  Waldon,  who  was 
driving  the  boat,  had  not  heard  what  was  said,  but 
7 


9o  THE  WAR  TERROR 

I  had,  and  I  could  not  conceive  how  anyone  could 
take  it  so  calmly. 

Finally  Jermyn  turned  to  Kennedy  and  looked  him 
squarely  in  the  eye.  "Kennedy,"  he  said  slowly, 
"this  is  extraordinary — most  extraordinary,"  then, 
pausing,  added,  "if  true." 

"There  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  truth,"  replied 
Kennedy,  eyeing  Dr.  Jermyn  just  as  squarely. 

"What  do  you  propose  to  do  about  it?"  asked 
the  doctor. 

"Investigate,"  replied  Kennedy  simply.  "While 
Waldon  takes  these  things  up  to  the  undertaker's, 
we  may  as  well  wait  here  in  the  boat.  I  want  him 
to  stop  on  the  way  back  for  Mr.  Edwards.  Then 
we  shall  go  out  to  the  Lucie.  He  must  go,  whether 
he  likes  it  or  not." 

It  was  indeed  a  most  peculiar  situation  as  Ken- 
nedy and  I  sat  in  the  tender  with  Dr.  Jermyn  wait- 
ing for  Waldon  to  return  with  Edwards.  Not  a 
word  was  spoken. 

The  tenseness  of  the  situation  was  not  relieved  by 
the  return  of  Waldon  with  Edwards.  Waldon 
seemed  to  realize  without  knowing  just  what  it  was, 
that  something  was  about  to  happen.  He  drove  his 
boat  back  to  the  Lucie  again  in  record  time.  This 
was  Kennedy's  turn  to  be  reticent.  Whatever  it  was 
he  was  revolving  in  his  mind,  he  answered  in 
scarcely  more  than  monosyllables  whatever  questions 
were  put  to  him. 

"You  are  not  coming  aboard?"  inquired  Edwards 
in  surprise  as  he  and  Jermyn  mounted  the  steps  of 
the  houseboat  ladder,  and  Kennedy  remained  seated 
in  the  tender. 

"Not  yet,"  replied  Craig  coolly. 


THE  RADIO  DETECTIVE  91 

"But  I  thought  you  had  something  to  show  me. 
Waldon  told  me  you  had." 

"I  think  I  shall  have  in  a  short  time,"  returned 
Kennedy.  "We  shall  be  back  immediately.  I'm  just 
going  to  ask  Waldon  to  run  over  to  the  Nautilus 
for  a  few  minutes.  We'll  tow  back  your  launch, 
too,  in  case  you  need  it." 

Waldon  had  cast  off  obediently. 

"There's  one  thing  sure,"  I  remarked.  "Jermyn 
can't  get  away  from  the  Lucie  until  we  return — un- 
less he  swims." 

Kennedy  did  not  seem  to  pay  much  attention  to 
the  remark,  for  his  only  reply  was:  "I'm  taking  a 
chance  by  this  maneuvering,  but  I  think  it  will  work 
out  that  I  am  correct.  By  the  way,  Waldon,  you 
needn't  put  on  so  much  speed.  I'm  in  no  great  hurry 
to  get  back.    Half  an  hour  will  be  time  enough." 

"Jermyn?  What  did  you  mean  by  Jermyn?" 
asked  Waldon,  as  we  climbed  to  the  deck  of  the 
Nautilus. 

He  had  evidently  learned,  as  I  had,  that  it  was 
little  use  to  try  to  quiz  Kennedy  until  he  was  ready 
to  be  questioned  and  had  decided  to  try  it  on  me. 

I  had  nothing  to  conceal  and  I  told  him  quite  fully 
all  that  I  knew.  Actually,  I  believe  if  Jermyn  had 
been  there,  it  would  have  taken  both  Kennedy  and 
myself  to  prevent  violence.  As  it  was  I  had  a  verita- 
ble madman  to  deal  with  while  Kennedy  gathered  up 
leisurely  the  wireless  outfit  he  had  installed  on  the 
deck  of  Waldon's  yacht.  It  was  only  by  telling  him 
that  I  would  certainly  demand  that  Kennedy  leave 
him  behind  if  he  did  not  control  his  feelings  that  I 
could  calm  him  before  Craig  had  finished  his  work 
on  the  yacht. 

Waldon  relieved  himself  by  driving  the  tender 


92  THE  WAR  TERROR 

back  at  top  speed  to  the  Lucie,  and  now  it  seemed 
that  Kennedy  had  no  objection  to  traveling  as  fast 
as  the  many-cylindered  engine  was  capable  of  going. 

As  we  entered  the  saloon  of  the  houseboat,  I  kept 
close  watch  over  Waldon. 

Kennedy  began  by  slipping  a  record  on  the  phono- 
graph in  the  corner  of  the  saloon,  then  facing  us 
and  addressing  Edwards  particularly. 

"You  may  be  interested  to  know,  Mr.  Edwards," 
he  said,  "that  your  wireless  outfit  here  has  been  put 
to  a  use  for  which  you  never  intended  it." 

No  one  said  anything,  but  I  am  sure  that  some 
one  in  the  room  then  for.  the  first  time  began  to  sus- 
pect what  was  coming. 

"As  you  know,  by  the  use  of  an  aerial  pole,  mes- 
sages may  be  easily  received  from  any  number  of 
stations,"  continued  Craig.  "Laws,  rules  and  regu- 
lations may  be  adopted  to  shut  out  interlopers  and 
plug  busybody  ears,  but  the  greater  part  of  what- 
ever is  transmitted  by  the  Hertzian  waves  can  be 
snatched  down  by  other  wireless  apparatus. 

"Down  below,  in  that  little  room  of  yours,"  went 
on  Craig,  "might  sit  an  operator  with  his  ear-phone 
clamped  to  his  head,  drinking  in  the  news  conveyed 
surely  and  swiftly  to  him  through  the  wireless  sig 
nals — plucking  from  the  sky  secrets  of  finance  and," 
he  added,  leaning  forward,  "love." 

In  his  usual  dramatic  manner  Kennedy  had  swung 
his  little  audience  completely  with  him. 

"In  other  words,"  he  resumed,  "it  might  be  used 
for  eavesdropping  by  a  wireless  wiretapper.  Now," 
he  concluded,  "I  thought  that  if  there  was  any  radio 
detective  work  being  done,  I  might  as  well  do  some, 
too." 

He  toyed  for  a  moment  with  the  phonograph  rec- 


THE  RADIO  DETECTIVE  93 

ord.  "I  have  used,"  he  explained,  "Marconi's 
radiotelephone,  because  in  connection  with  his  re- 
ceivers Marconi  uses  phonographic  recorders  and 
on  them  has  captured  wireless  telegraph  signals  over 
hundreds  of  miles. 

"He  has  found  that  it  is  possible  to  receive  wire- 
less signals,  although  ordinary  records  are  not  loud 
enough,  by  using  a  small  microphone  on  the  repeat- 
ing diaphragm  and  connected  with  a  loud-speaking 
telephone.  The  chief  difficulty  was  to  get  a  micro- 
phone that  would  carry  a  sufficient  current  without 
burning  up.  There  were  other  difficulties,  but  they 
have  been  surmounted  and  now  wireless  telegraph 
messages  may  be  automatically  recorded  and  made 
audible." 

Kennedy  started  the  phonograph,  running  it 
along,  stopping  it,  taking  up  the  record  at  a  new 
point. 

"Listen,"  he  exclaimed  at  length,  "there's  some- 
thing interesting,  the  WXY  call — Seaville  station — 
from  some  one  on  the  Lucie  only  a  few  minutes  ago, 
sending  a  message  to  be  relayed  by  Seaville  to  the 
station  at  Beach  Park.  It  seems  impossible,  but 
buzzing  and  ticking  forth  is  this  message  from  some 
one  off  this  very  houseboat.  It  reads :  "Miss  Valerie 
Fox,  Beach  Park.  I  am  suspected  of  the  murder  of 
Mrs.  Edwards.  I  appeal  to  you  to  help  me.  You 
must  allow  me  to  tell  the  truth  about  the  messages  I 
intercepted  for  Mrs.  Edwards  which  passed  between 
yourself  on  the  ocean  and  Mr.  Edwards  in  New 
York  via  Seaville.  You  rejected  me  and  would 
not  let  me  save  you.    Now  you  must  save  me." 

Kennedy  paused,  then  added,  "The  message  is 
signed  by  Dr.  Jermyn!" 

At  once  I  saw  it  all.     Jermyn  had  been  the  un- 


94  THE  WAR  TERROR 

successful  suitor  for  Miss  Fox's  affections.  But  be- 
fore I  could  piece  out  the  rest  of  the  tragic  story, 
Kennedy  had  started  the  phonograph  record  at  an 
earlier  point  which  he  had  skipped  for  the  present. 

"Here's  another  record — a  brief  one — also  to 
Valerie  Fox  from  the  houseboat:  'Refuse  all  in- 
terviews. Deny  everything.  Will  see  you  as  soon 
as  present  excitement  dies  down.'  " 

Before  Kennedy  could  finish,  Waldon  had  leaped 
forward,  unable  longer  to  control  his  feelings.  If 
Kennedy  had  not  seized  his  arm,  I  verily  believe  he 
would  have  cast  Dr.  Jermyn  into  the  bay  into  which 
his  sister  had  fallen  two  nights  before  in  her  terri- 
bly weakened  condition. 

"Waldon,"  cried  Kennedy,  "for  God's  sake,  man 
— wait!  Don't  you  understand?  The  second  mes- 
sage is  signed  Tracy  Edwards." 

It  came  as  quite  as  much  a  shock  of  surprise  to  me 
as  to  Waldon. 

"Don't  you  understand?"  he  repeated.  "Your 
sister  first  learned  from  Dr.  Jermyn  what  was  go- 
ing on.  She  moved  the  Lucie  down  here  near  Sea- 
ville  in  order  to  be  near  the  wireless  station  when 
the  ship  bearing  her  rival,  Valerie  Fox,  got  in  touch 
with  land.  With  the  help  of  Dr.  Jermyn  she  inter- 
cepted the  wireless  messages  from  the  Kronprinz 
to  the  shore — between  her  husband  and  Valerie 
Fox." 

Kennedy  was  hurrying  on  now  to  his  irresistible 
conclusion.  "She  found  that  he  was  infatuated  with 
the  famous  stage  beauty,  that  he  was  planning  to 
marry  another,  her  rival.  She  accused  him  of  it, 
threatened  to  defeat  his  plans.  He  knew  she  knew 
his  unfaithfulness.  Instead  of  being  your  sister's 
murderer,  Dr.  Jermyn  was  helping  her  get  the  evi- 


THE  RADIO  DETECTIVE  95 

dencc  chat  would  save  both  her  and  perkups  win 
Miss  Fox  back  to  himself." 

Kennedy  had  turned  sharply  on  Edwards. 

"But,"  he  added,  with  a  glance  that  crushed  any 
lingering  hope  that  the  truth  had  been  concealed, 
"the  same  night  that  Dr.  Jermyn  arrived  here,  you 
visited  your  wife.  As  she  slept  you  severed  the 
nerves  that  meant  life  or  death  to  her.  Then  you 
covered  the  cuts  with  the  preparation  which  you 
knew  Dr.  Jermyn  used.  You  asked  him  to  stay, 
while  you  went  away,  thinking  that  when  death  came 
you  would  have  a  perfect  alibi — perhaps  a  scape- 
goat.   Edwards,  the  radio  detective  convicts  youl" 


CHAPTER   X 

THE  CURIO  SHOP 

Edwards  crumpled  up  as  Kennedy  and  I  faced 
him.  There  was  no  escape.  In  fact  our  greatest 
difficulty  was  to  protect  him  from  Waldon. 

Kennedy's  work  in  the  case  was  over  when  we 
had  got  Edwards  ashore  and  in  the  hands  of  the 
authorities.  But  mine  had  just  begun  and  it  was 
late  when  I  got  my  story  on  the  wire  for  the  Star. 

I  felt  pretty  tired  and  determined  to  make  up  for 
it  by  sleeping  the  next  day.  It  was  no  use,  how- 
ever. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Mrs.  Northrop?"  I 
heard  Kennedy  ask  as  he  opened  our  door  the  next 
morning,  just  as  I  had  finished  dressing. 

He  had  admitted  a  young  woman,  who  greeted 
us  with  nervous,  wide-staring  eyes. 

"It's — it's  about  Archer,"  she  cried,  sinking  into 
the  nearest  chair  and  staring  from  one  to  the  other 
of  us. 

She  was  the  wife  of  Professor  Archer  Northrop, 
director  of  the  archeological  department  at  the  uni- 
versity. Both  Craig  and  I  had  known  her  ever  since 
her  marriage  to  Northrop,  for  she  was  one  of  the 
most  attractive  ladies  in  the  younger  set  of  the 
faculty,  to  which  Craig  naturally  belonged.  Archer 
had  been  of  the  class  below  us  in  the  university.  We 

9« 


THE  CURIO  SHOP  97 

had  hazed  him,  and  out  of  the  mild  hazing  there 
had,  strangely  enough,  grown  a  strong  friendship. 

I  recollected  quickly  that  Northrop,  according  to 
last  reports,  had  been  down  in  the  south  of  Mexico 
on  an  archeological  expedition.  But  before  I  could 
frame,  even  in  my  mind,  the  natural  question  in  a 
form  that  would  not  alarm  his  wife  further,  Ken- 
nedy had  it  on  his  lips. 

"No  bad  news  from  Mitla,  I  hope?"  he  asked 
gently,  recalling  one  of  the  main  working  stations 
chosen  by  the  expedition  and  the  reported  unsettled 
condition  of  the  country  about  it.  She  looked  up 
quickly. 

"Didn't  you  know — he — came  back  from  Vera 
Cruz  yesterday?"  she  asked  slowly,  then  added, 
speaking  in  a  broken  tone,  "and — he  seems — sud- 
denly— to  have  disappeared.  Oh,  such  a  terrible 
night  of  worry!  No  word — and  I  called  up  the 
museum,  but  Doctor  Bernardo,  the  curator,  had 
gone,  and  no  one  answered.  And  this  morning — I 
couldn't  stand  it  any  longer — so  I  came  to  you." 

"You  have  no  idea,  I  suppose,  of  anything  that 
was  weighing  on  his  mind?"  suggested  Kennedy. 

"No,"  she  answered  promptly. 

In  default  of  any  further  information,  Kennedy 
did  not  pursue  this  line  of  questioning.  I  could  not 
determine  from  his  face  or  manner  whether  he 
thought  the  matter  might  involve  another  than  Mrs. 
Northrop,  or,  perhaps,  something  connected  with 
the  unsettled  condition  of  the  country  from  which 
her  husband  had  just  arrived. 

"Have  you  any  of  the  letters  that  Archer  wrote 
home?"  asked  Craig,  at  length. 

"Yes,"  she  replied  eagerly,  taking  a  little  packet 


98  THE  WAR  TERROR 

from  her  handbag.  "I  thought  you  might  ask  that. 
I  brought  them." 

"You  are  an  ideal  client,"  commented  Craig 
encouragingly,  taking  the  letters.  "Now,  Mrs. 
Northrop,  be  brave.  Trust  me  to  run  this  thing 
down,  and  if  you  hear  anything  let  me  know  imme- 
diately." 

She  left  us  a  moment  later,  visibly  relieved. 

Scarcely  had  she  gone  when  Craig,  stuffing  the 
letters  into  his  pocket  unread,  seized  his  hat,  and  a 
moment  later  was  striding  along  toward  the  museum 
with  his  habitual  rapid,  abstracted  step  which  told 
me  that  he  sensed  a  mystery. 

In  the  museum  we  met  Doctor  Bernardo,  a  man 
slightly  older  than  Northrop,  with  whom  he  had 
been  very  intimate.  He  had  just  arrived  and  was 
already  deeply  immersed  in  the  study  of  some  new 
and  beautiful  colored  plates  from  the  National 
Museum  of  Mexico  City. 

"Do  you  remember  seeing  Northrop  here  yes- 
terday afternoon?"  greeted  Craig,  without  explain- 
ing what  had  happened. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  promptly.  "I  was  here  with 
him  until  very  late.  At  least,  he  was  in  his  own 
room,  working  hard,  when  I  left." 

"Did  you  see  him  go?" 

"Why — er — no,"  replied  Bernardo,  as  if  that 
were  a  new  idea.  "I  left  him  here — at  least,  I 
didn't  see  him  go  out." 

Kennedy  tried  the  door  of  Northrop's  room, 
which  was  at  the  far  end,  in  a  corner,  and  com- 
municated with  the  hall  only  through  the  main  floor 
of  the  museum.  It  was  locked.  A  pass-key  from 
the  janitor  quickly  opened  it. 

Such  a  sight  as  greeted  us,  I  shall  never  forget. 


THE  CURIO  SHOP  99 

There,  in  his  big  desk-chair,  sat  Northrop,  abso- 
lutely rigid,  the  most  horribly  contorted  look  on  his 
features  that  I  have  ever  seen — half  of  pain,  half 
of  fear,  as  if  of  something  nameless. 

Kennedy  bent  over.  His  hands  were  cold. 
Northrop  had  been  dead  at  least  twelve  hours,  per- 
haps longer.  All  night  the  deserted  museum  had 
guarded  its  terrible  secret. 

As  Craig  peered  into  his  face,  he  saw,  in  the 
fleshy  part  of  the  neck,  just  below  the  left  ear,  a 
round  red  mark,  with  just  a  drop  or  two  of  now 
black  coagulated  blood  in  the  center.  All  around 
we  could  see  a  vast  amount  of  miscellaneous  stuff, 
partly  unpacked,  partly  just  opened,  and  waiting  to 
be  taken  out  of  the  wrappings  by  the  now  motion- 
less hands. 

"I  suppose  you  are  more  or  less  familiar  with 
what  Northrop  brought  back?"  asked  Kennedy  of 
Bernardo,  running  his  eye  over  the  material  in  the 
room. 

"Yes,  reasonably,"  answered  Bernardo.  "Before 
the  cases  arrived  from  the  wharf,  he  told  me  in  de- 
tail what  he  had  managed  to  bring  up  with  him." 

"I  wish,  then,  that  you  would  look  it  over  and 
see  if  there  is  anything  missing,"  requested  Craig, 
already  himself  busy  in  going  over  the  room  for 
other  evidence. 

Doctor  Bernardo  hastily  began  taking  a  mental 
inventory  of  the  stuff.  While  they  worked,  I  tried 
vainly  to  frame  some  theory  which  would  explain 
the  startling  facts  we  had  so  suddenly  discovered. 

Mitla,  I  knew,  was  south  of  the  city  of  Oaxaca, 
and  there,  in  its  ruined  palaces,  was  the  crowning 
achievement  of  the  old  Zapotec  kings.     No  ruins  in 


ioo  THE  WAR  TERROR 

America  were  more  elaborately  ornamented  or 
richer  in  lore  for  the  archeologist. 

Northrop  had  brought  up  porphyry  blocks  with 
quaint  grecques  and  much  hieroglyphic  painting. 
Already  unpacked  were  half  a  dozen  copper  axes, 
some  of  the  first  of  that  particular  style  that  had 
ever  been  brought  to  the  United  States.  Besides  the 
sculptured  stones  and  the  mosaics  were  jugs,  cups, 
vases,  little  gods,  sacrificial  stones — enough,  almost, 
to  equip  a  new  alcove  in  the  museum. 

Before  Northrop  was  an  idol,  a  hideous  thing  on 
which  frogs  and  snakes  squatted  and  coiled.  It  was 
a  fitting  piece  to  accompany  the  gruesome  occupant 
of  the  little  room  in  his  long,  last  vigil.  In  fact,  it 
almost  sent  a  shudder  over  me,  and  if  I  had  been 
inclined  to  the  superstitious,  I  should  certainly  have 
concluded  that  this  was  retribution  for  having  dis- 
turbed the  lares  and  penates  of  a  dead  race. 

Doctor  Bernardo  was  going  over  the  material  a 
second  time.  By  the  look  on  his  face,  even  I  could 
guess  that  something  was  missing. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Craig,  following  the  curator 
closely. 

"Why,"  he  answered  slowly,  "there  was  an  in- 
scription— we  were  looking  at  it  earlier  in  the  day 
— on  a  small  block  of  porphyry.    I  don't  see  it." 

He  paused  and  went  back  to  his  search  before  we 
could  ask  him  further  what  he  thought  the  inscrip- 
tion was  about. 

I  thought  nothing  myself  at  the  time  of  his  reti- 
cence, for  Kennedy  had  gone  over  to  a  window  back 
of  Northrop  and  to  the  left.  It  was  fully  twenty 
feet  from  the  downward  slope  of  the  campus  there, 
and,  as  he  craned  his  neck  out,  he  noted  that  the 


THE  CURIO  SHOP  101 

copper  leader  of  the  rain  pipe  ran  past  it  a  few  feet 
away. 

I,  too,  looked  out.  A  thick  group  of  trees  hid  the 
window  from  the  avenue  beyond  the  campus  wall, 
and  below  us,  at  a  corner  of  the  building,  was  a 
clump  of  rhododendrons.  As  Craig  bent  over  the 
sill,  he  whipped  out  a  pocket  lens. 

A  moment  later  he  silently  handed  the  glass  to 
me.  As  nearly  as  I  could  make  out,  there  were 
five  marks  on  the  dust  of  the  sill. 

"Finger-prints!"  I  exclaimed.  "Some  one  has 
been  clinging  to  the  edge  of  the  ledge." 

"In  that  case,"  Craig  observed  quietly,  "there 
would  have  been  only  four  prints." 

I  looked  again,  puzzled.  The  prints  were  flat  and 
well  separated. 

"No,"  he  added,  "not  finger-prints — toe-prints." 

"Toe-prints?"  I  echoed. 

Before  he  could  reply,  Craig  had  dashed  out  of 
the  room,  around,  and  under  the  window.  There, 
he  was  carefully  going  over  the  soft  earth  around 
the  bushes  below. 

"What  are  you  looking  for?"  I  asked,  joining 
him. 

"Some  one — perhaps  two — has  been  here,"  he 
remarked,  almost  under  his  breath.  "One,  at  least, 
has  removed  his  shoes.  See  those  shoe-prints  up 
to  this  point?  The  print  of  a  boot-heel  in  soft  earth 
shows  the  position  and  contour  of  every  nail  head. 
Bertillon  has  made  a  collection  of  such  nails,  certain 
types,  sizes,  and  shapes  used  in  certain  boots,  show- 
ing often  what  country  the  shoes  came  from.  Even 
the  number  and  pattern  are  significant.  Some  fac- 
tories use  a  fixed  number  of  nails  and  arrange  them 
in  a  particular  manner.     I  have  made  my  own  col- 


102  THE  WAR  TERROR 

lection  of  such  prints  in  this  country.  These  were 
American  shoes.  Perhaps  the  clue  will  not  lead  us 
anywhere,  though,  for  I  doubt  whether  it  was  an 
American  foot." 

Kennedy  continued  to  study  the  marks. 

"He  removed  his  shoes — either  to  help  in  climb- 
ing or  to  prevent  noise — ah — here's  the  foot! 
Strange — see  how  small  it  is — and  broad,  how  pre- 
hensile the  toes — almost  like  fingers.  Surely  that 
foot  could  never  have  been  encased  in  American 
shoes  all  its  life.  I  shall  make  plaster  casts  of  these, 
to  preserve  later." 

He  was  still  scouting  about  on  hands  and  knees 
in  the  dampness  of  the  rhododendrons.  Suddenly 
he  reached  his  long  arm  in  among  the  shrubs  and 
picked  up  a  little  reed  stick.  On  the  end  of  it  was 
a  small  cylinder  of  buff  brown. 

He  looked  at  it  curiously,  dug  his  nail  into  the  soft 
mass,  then  rubbed  his  nail  over  the  tip  of  his  tongue 
gingerly. 

With  a  wry  face,  as  if  the  taste  were  extremely 
acrid,  he  moistened  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  off 
his  tongue  vigorously. 

"Even  that  minute  particle  that  was  on  my  nail 
makes  my  tongue  tingle  and  feel  numb,"  he  re- 
marked, still  rubbing.  "Let  us  go  back  again.  I 
want  to  see  Bernardo." 

"Had  he  any  visitors  during  the  day?"  queried 
Kennedy,  as  he  reentered  the  ghastly  little  room, 
while  the  curator  stood  outside,  completely  unnerved 
by  the  tragedy  which  had  been  so  close  to  him  with- 
out his  apparently  knowing  it.  Kennedy  was  squeez- 
ing out  from  the  little  wound  on  Northrop's  neck 
a  few  drops  of  liquid  on  a  sterilized  piece  of  glass. 


THE  CURIO  SHOP  103 

"No;  no  one,"  Bernardo  answered,  after  a  mo- 
ment. 

"Did  you  see  anyone  in  the  museum  who  looked 
suspicious?"  asked  Kennedy,  watching  Bernardo's 
face  keenly. 

"No,"  he  hesitated.  "There  were  several  peo- 
ple wandering  about  among  the  exhibits,  of  course. 
One,  I  recall,  late  in  the  afternoon,  was  a  little 
dark-skinned  woman,  rather  good-looking." 

"A  Mexican?" 

"Yes,  I  should  say  so.  Not  of  Spanish  descent, 
though.  She  was  rather  of  the  Indian  type.  She 
seemed  to  be  much  interested  in  the  various  ex- 
hibits, asked  me  several  questions,  very  intelligently, 
too.  Really,  I  thought  she  was  trying  to — er— flirt 
with  me." 

He  shot  a  glance  at  Craig,  half  of  confession,  half 
of  embarrassment. 

"And — oh,  yes — there  was  another — a  man,  a 
little  man,  as  I  recall,  with  shaggy  hair.  He  looked 
like  a  Russian  to  me.  I  remember,  because  he  came 
to  the  door,  peered  around  hastily,  and  went  away. 
I  thought  he  might  have  got  into  the  wrong  part  of 
the  building  and  went  to  direct  him  right — but  be- 
fore I  could  get  out  into  the  hall,  he  was  gone.  I 
remember,  too,  that,  as  I  turned,  the  woman  had 
followed  me  and  soon  was  asking  other  questions — 
which,  I  will  admit — I  was  glad  to  answer." 

"Was  Northrop  in  his  room  while  these  people 
were  here?" 

"Yes ;  he  had  locked  the  door  so  that  none  of  the 
students  or  visitors  could  disturb  him." 

"Evidently  the  woman  was  diverting  your  atten- 
tion while  the  man  entered  Northrop's  room  by  the 


io4  THE  WAR  TERROR 

window,"  ruminated  Craig,  as  we  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment in  the  outside  doorway. 

He  had  already  telephoned  to  our  old  friend 
Doctor  Leslie,  the  coroner,  to  take  charge  of  the 
case,  and  now  was  ready  to  leave.  The  news  had 
spread,  and  the  janitor  of  the  building  was  waiting 
to  lock  the  campus  door  to  keep  back  the  crowd  of 
students  and  others. 

Our  next  duty  was  the  painful  one  of  breaking 
the  news  to  Mrs.  Northrop.  I  shall  pass  it  over. 
Perhaps  no  one  could  have  done  it  more  gently  than 
Kennedy.  She  did  not  cry.  She  was  simply  dazed. 
Fortunately  her  mother  was  with  her,  had  been,  in 
fact,  ever  since  Northrop  had  gone  on  the  expedi- 
tion. 

"Why  should  anyone  want  to  steal  tablets  of  old 
Mixtec  inscriptions?"  I  asked  thoughtfully,  as  we 
walked  sadly  over  the  campus  in  the  direction  of 
the  chemistry  building.  "Have  they  a  sufficient 
value,  even  on  appreciative  Fifth  Avenue,  to  war- 
rant murder?" 

"Well,"  he  remarked,  "it  does  seem  incompre- 
hensible. Yet  people  do  just  such  things.  The 
psychologists  tell  us  that  there  is  a  veritable  mania 
for  possessing  such  curios.  However,  it  is  possible 
that  there  may  be  some  deeper  significance  in  this 
case,"  he  added,  his  face  puckered  in  thought. 

Who  was  the  mysterious  Mexican  woman,  who 
the  shaggy  Russian?  I  asked  myself.  Clearly,  at 
least,  if  she  existed  at  all,  she  was  one  of  the  mil- 
lions not  of  Spanish  but  of  Indian  descent  in  the 
country  south  of  us.  As  I  reasoned  it  out,  it  seemed 
to  me  as  if  she  must  have  been  an  accomplice.  She 
could  not  have  got  into  Northrop's  room  either  be- 
fore or  after  Doctor  Bernardo  left.    Then,  too,  the 


THE  CURIO  SHOP  105 

toe-  and  shoe-prints  were  not  hers.  But,  I  figured, 
she  certainly  had  a  part  in  the  plot. 

While  I  was  engaged  in  the  vain  effort  to  un- 
ravel the  tragic  affair  by  pure  reason,  Kennedy  was 
at  work  with  practical  science. 

He  began  by  examining  the  little  dark  cylinder  on 
the  end  of  the  reed.  On  a  piece  of  the  stuff,  broken 
off,  he  poured  a  dark  liquid  from  a  brown-glass 
bottle.    Then  he  placed  it  under  a  microscope. 

"Microscopically,"  he  said  slowly,  "it  consists  al- 
most wholly  of  minute,  clear  granules  which  give  a 
blue  reaction  with  iodine.  They  are  starch.  Mixed 
with  them  are  some  larger  starch  granules,  a  few 
plant  cells,  fibrous  matter,  and  other  foreign  par- 
ticles. And  then,  there  is  the  substance  that  gives 
that  acrid,  numbing  taste."  He  appeared  to  be 
vacantly  studying  the  floor. 

"What  do  you  think  it  is?"  I  asked,  unable  to 
restrain  myself. 

"Aconite,"  he  answered  slowly,  "of  which  the  ac- 
tive principle  is  the  deadly  poisonous  alkaloid, 
aconitin." 

He  walked  over  and  pulled  down  a  well-thumbed 
standard  work  on  toxicology,  turned  the  pages,  then 
began  to  read  aloud: 

Pure  aconitin  is  probably  the  most  actively  poison- 
ous substance  with  which  we  are  acquainted  and,  if 
administered  hypodermically,  the  alkaloid  is  even 
more  powerfully  poisonous  than  when  taken  by  the 
mouth. 

As  in  the  case  of  most  of  the  poisonous  alkaloids, 
aconitin  does  not  produce  any  decidedly  characteris- 
tic post-mortem  appearances.  There  is  no  way  to 
distinguish  it  from  other  alkaloids,  in  fact,  no  re* 


io6  THE  WAR  TERROR 

liable  chemical  test.  The  physiological  effects  before 
death  are  all  that  can  be  relied  on. 

Owing  to  its  exceeding  toxic  nature,  the  smallness 
of  the  dose  required  to  produce  death,  and  the  lack 
of  tests  for  recognition,  aconitin  possesses  rather 
more  interest  in  legal  medicine  than  most  other 
poisons. 

It  is  one  of  the  few  substances  which,  in  the  pres- 
ent state  of  toxicology,  might  be  criminally  adminis- 
tered and  leave  no  positive  evidence  of  the  crime.  If 
a  small  but  fatal  dose  of  the  poison  were  to  be  given, 
especially  if  it  were  administered  hypodermically,  the 
chances  of  its  detection  in  the  body  after  death  would 
be  practically  none. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE  "PILLAR  OF  DEATH" 

I  WAS  looking  at  him  fixedly  as  the  diabolical  na- 
ture of  what  must  have  happened  sank  into  my  mind. 
Here  was  a  poison  that  defied  detection.  I  could 
see  by  the  look  on  Craig's  face  that  that  problem, 
alone,  was  enough  to  absorb  his  attention.  He 
seemed  fully  to  realize  that  we  had  to  deal  with  a 
criminal  so  clever  that  he  might  never  be  brought 
to  justice. 

An  idea  flashed  over  me. 

"How  about  the  letters?"  I  suggested. 

"Good,  Walter!"  he  exclaimed. 

He  untied  the  package  which  Mrs.  Northrop  had 
given  him  and  glanced  quickly  over  one  after  an- 
other of  the  letters. 

"Ah!"  he  exclaimed,  fairly  devouring  one  dated 
at  Mitla.  "Listen — it  tells  about  Northrop's  work 
and  goes  on: 

"  'I  have  been  much  interested  in  a  cavern,  or  sub- 
terraneo,  here,  in  the  shape  of  a  cross,  each  arm  of 
which  extends  for  some  twelve  feet  underground. 
In  the  center  it  is  guarded  by  a  block  of  stone  popu- 
larly called  "the  Pillar  of  Death."  There  is  a  su- 
perstition that  whoever  embraces  it  will  die  before 
the  sun  goes  down. 

"  'From  the  subterraneo  is  said  to  lead  a  long,  un- 
derground passage  across  the  court  to  another  sub- 

107 


108  THE  WAR  TERROR 

terranean  chamber  which  is  full  of  Mixtec  treasure. 
Treasure  hunters  have  dug  all  around  it,  and  it  is 
said  that  two  old  Indians,  only,  know  of  the  im- 
mense amount  of  buried  gold  and  silver,  but  that 
they  will  not  reveal  it.'  " 

I  started  up.  Here  was  the  missing  link  which 
I  had  been  waiting  for. 

"There,  at  least,  is  the  motive,"  I  blurted  out. 
"That  is  why  Bernardo  was  so  reticent.  Northrop, 
in  his  innocence  of  heart,  had  showed  him  that  in- 
scription." 

Kennedy  said  nothing  as  he  finally  tied  up  the 
little  packet  of  letters  and  locked  it  in  his  safe.  He 
was  not  given  to  hasty  generalizations ;  neither  was 
he  one  who  clung  doggedly  to  a  preconceived  theory. 

It  was  still  early  in  the  afternoon.  Craig  and  I 
decided  to  drop  into  the  museum  again  in  order  to 
see  Doctor  Bernardo.  He  was  not  there,  and  we 
sat  down  to  wait. 

Just  then  the  letter  box  in  the  door  clicked.  It 
was  the  postman  on  his  rounds.  Kennedy  walked 
over  and  picked  up  the  letter. 

The  postmark  bore  the  words,  "Mexico  City," 
and  a  date  somewhat  later  than  that  on  which  Nor- 
throp  had  left  Vera  Cruz.  In  the  lower  corner,  un- 
derscored, were  the  words,  "Personal — Urgent." 

"I'd  like  to  know  what  is  in  that,"  remarked 
Craig,  turning  it  over  and  over. 

He  appeared  to  be  considering  something,  for 
he  rose  suddenly  and  shoved  the  letter  into  his 
pocket. 

I  followed,  and  a  few  moments  later,  across  the 
campus  in  his  laboratory,  he  was  working  quickly 
over  an  X-ray  apparatus.  He  had  placed  the  let- 
ter in  it. 


THE  "PILLAR  OF  DEATH"         109 

"These  are  what  are  known  as  'low'  tubes,"  he  ex- 
plained. "They  give  out  'soft  rays.'  "  He  con- 
tinued to  work  for  a  few  moments,  then  handed  me 
the  letter. 

"Now,  Walter,"  he  said,  "if  you  will  just  hurry 
back  to  the  museum  and  replace  that  letter,  I  think 
I  will  have  something  that  will  astonish  you — though 
whether  it  will  have  any  bearing  on  the  case,  re- 
mains to  be  seen." 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked,  a  few  minutes  later,  when 
I  had  rejoined  him,  after  returning  the  letter.  He 
was  poring  intently  over  what  looked  like  a  nega- 
tive. 

"The  possibility  of  reading  the  contents  of  docu- 
ments inclosed  in  a  sealed  envelope,"  he  replied, 
still  studying  the  shadowgraph  closely,  "has  already 
been  established  by  the  well-known  English  scientist, 
Doctor  Hall  Edwards.  He  has  been  experimenting 
with  the  method  of  using  X-rays  recently  discovered 
by  a  German  scientist,  by  which  radiographs  of  very 
thin  substances,  such  as  a  sheet  of  paper,  a  leaf,  an 
insect's  body,  may  be  obtained.  These  thin  sub- 
stances through  which  the  rays  used  formerly  to 
pass  without  leaving  an  impression,  can  now  be 
radiographed." 

I  looked  carefully  as  he  traced  out  something  on 
the  negative.  On  it  was  easily  possible,  following 
his  guidance,  to  read  the  words  inscribed  on  the 
sheet  of  paper  inside.  So  admirably  defined  were 
all  the  details  that  even  the  gum  on  the  envelope  and 
the  edges  of  the  sheet  of  paper  inside  the  envelope 
could  be  distinguished. 

"Any  letter  written  with  ink  having  a  mineral 
basis  can  be  radiographed,"  added  Craig.  "Even 
when  the  sheet  is  folded  in  the  usual  way,  it  is  pos- 


no  THE  WAR  TERROR 

sible  by  taking  a  radiograph  stereoscopically,  to  dis- 
tinguish the  writing,  every  detail  standing  out  in 
relief.  Besides,  it  can  be  greatly  magnified,  which 
aids  in  deciphering  it  if  it  is  indistinct  or  jumbled  up. 
Some  of  it  looks  like  mirror  writing.  Ah,"  he  added, 
"here's  something  interesting!" 

Together  we  managed  to  trace  out  the  contents 
of  several  paragraphs,  of  which  the  significant  parts 
were  as  follows : 

I  am  expecting  that  my  friend  Senora  Herreria 
will  be  in  New  York  by  the  time  you  receive  this, 
and  should  she  call  on  you,  I  know  you  will  accord 
her  every  courtesy.  She  has  been  in  Mexico  City 
for  a  few  days,  having  just  returned  from  Mitla, 
where  she  met  Professor  Northrop.  It  is  rumored 
that  Professor  Northrop  has  succeeded  in  smuggling 
out  of  the  country  a  very  important  stone  bearing 
an  inscription  which,  I  understand,  is  of  more  than 
ordinary  interest.  I  do  not  know  anything  definite 
about  it,  as  Senora  Herreria  is  very  reticent  on  the 
matter,  but  depend  on  you  to  find  out  if  possible  and 
let  me  know  of  it. 

According  to  the  rumors  and  the  statements  of 
the  senora,  it  seems  that  Northrop  has  taken  an  un- 
fair advantage  of  the  situation  down  in  Oaxaca,  and 
I  suppose  she  and  others  who  know  about  the  in- 
scription feel  that  it  is  really  the  possession  of  the 
government. 

You  will  find  that  the  senora  is  an  accomplished 
antiquarian  and  scholar.  Like  many  others  down 
here  just  now,  she  has  a  high  regard  for  the  Japan- 
ese. As  you  know,  there  exists  a  natural  sympathy 
between  some  Mexicans  and  Japanese,  owing  to 
what  is  believed  to  be  a  common  origin  of  the  two 
races. 

In  spite  of  the  assertions  of  many  to  the  contrary, 


THE  "PILLAR  OF  DEATH"         in 

there  is  little  doubt  left  in  the  minds  of  students  that 
the  Indian  races  which  have  peopled  Mexico  were  of 
Mongolian  stock.  Many  words  in  some  dialects  are 
easily  understood  by  Chinese  immigrants.  A  secre- 
tary of  the  Japanese  legation  here  was  able  recently 
to  decipher  old  Mixtec  inscriptions  found  in  the 
ruins  of  Mitla. 

Sefiora  Herreria  has  been  much  interested  in  es- 
tablishing the  relationship  and,  I  understand,  is  ac- 
quainted with  a  Japanese  curio  dealer  in  New  York 
who  recently  visited  Mexico  for  the  same  purpose. 
I  believe  that  she  wishes  to  collaborate  with  him  on 
a  monograph  on  the  subject,  which  is  expected  to 
have  a  powerful  effect  on  the  public  opinion  both 
here  and  at  Tokyo. 

In  regard  to  the  inscription  which  Northrop  has 
taken  with  him,  I  rely  on  you  to  keep  me  informed. 
There  seems  to  be  a  great  deal  of  mystery  connected 
with  it,  and  I  am  simply  hazarding  a  guess  as  to  its 
nature.  If  it  should  prove  to  be  something  which 
might  interest  either  the  Japanese  or  ourselves,  you 
can  see  how  important  it  may  be,  especially  in  view 
of  the  forthcoming  mission  of  General  Francisco  to 
Tokyo. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

Dr.  Emilio  Sanchez,  Director. 

"Bernardo  is  a  Mexican,"  I  exclaimed,  as  Ken- 
nedy finished  reading,  "and  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  the  woman  he  mentioned  was  this  Sefiora  Her- 
reria." 

Kennedy  said  nothing,  but  seemed  to  be  weigh- 
ing the  various  paragraphs  in  the  letter. 

"Still,"  I  observed,  "so  far,  the  only  one  against 
whom  we  have  any  direct  suspicion  in  the  case  is 
the  shaggy  Russian,  whoever  he  is." 


H2  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"A  man  whom  Bernardo  says  looked  like  a  Rus- 
sian," corrected  Craig. 

He  was  pacing  the  laboratory  restlessly. 

"This  is  becoming  quite  an  international  affair," 
he  remarked  finally,  pausing  before  me,  his  hat  on. 
"Would  you  like  to  relax  your  mind  by  a  little  ex- 
cursion among  the  curio  shops  of  the  city?  I  know 
something  about  Japanese  curios — more,  perhaps, 
than  I  do  of  Mexican.  It  may  amuse  us,  even  if  it 
doesn't  help  in  solving  the  mystery.  Meanwhile,  I 
shall  make  arrangements  for  shadowing  Bernardo. 
I  want  to  know  just  how  he  acts  after  he  reads  that 
letter." 

He  paused  long  enough  to  telephone  his  instruc- 
tions to  an  uptown  detective  agency  which  could  be 
depended  on  for  such  mere  routine  work,  then 
joined  me  with  the  significant  remark:  "Blood  is 
thicker  than  water,  anyhow,  Walter.  Still,  even  if 
the  Mexicans  are  influenced  by  sentiment,  I  hardly 
think  that  would  account  for  the  interest  of  our 
friends  from  across  the  water  in  the  matter." 

I  do  not  know  how  many  of  the  large  and  small 
curio  shops  of  the  city  we  visited  that  afternoon.  At 
another  time,  I  should  have  enjoyed  the  visits  im- 
mensely, for  anyone  seeking  articles  of  beauty  will 
find  the  antique  shops  of  Fifth  and  Fourth  Avenues 
and  the  side  streets  well  worth  visiting. 

We  came,  at  length,  to  one,  a  small,  quaint,  dusty 
rookery,  down  in  a  basement,  entered  almost  directly 
from  the  street.  It  bore  over  the  door  a  little  gilt 
sign  which  read  simply,  "Sato's." 

As  we  entered,  I  could  not  help  being  impressed 
by  the  wealth  of  articles  in  beautiful  cloisonne 
enamel,  in  mother-of-pearl,  lacquer,  and  champleve. 
There  were  beautiful  little  koros,  or  incense  burners, 


THE  "PILLAR  OF  DEATH"         113 

vases,  and  teapots.  There  were  enamels  incrusted, 
translucent,  and  painted,  works  of  the  famous  Nami- 
kawa,  of  Kyoto,  and  Namikawa,  of  Tokyo.  Sat- 
suma  vases,  splendid  and  rare  examples  of  the  pot- 
ter's art,  crowded  gorgeously  embroidered  screens 
depicting  all  sorts  of  brilliant  scenes,  among  others 
the  sacred  Fujiyama  rising  in  the  stately  distance. 
Sato  himself  greeted  us  with  a  ready  smile  and  bow. 

"I  am  just  looking  for  a  few  things  to  add  to  my 
den,"  explained  Kennedy,  adding,  "nothing  in  par- 
ticular, but  merely  whatever  happens  to  strike  my 
fancy." 

"Surely,  then,  you  have  come  to  the  right  shop," 
greeted  Sato.  "If  there  is  anything  that  interests 
you,  I  shall  be  glad  to  show  it." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Craig.  "Don't  let  me 
trouble  you  with  your  other  customers.  I  will  call 
on  you  if  I  see  anything." 

For  several  minutes,  Craig  and  I  busied  ourselves 
looking  about,  and  we  did  not  have  to  feign  interest, 
either. 

"Often  things  are  not  as  represented,"  he  whis- 
pered to  me,  after  a  while,  "but  a  connoiseur  can 
tell  spurious  goods.  These  are  the  real  thing, 
mostly." 

"Not  one  in  fifty  can  tell  the  difference,"  put  in 
the  voice  of  Sato,  at  his  elbow. 

"Well,  you  see  I  happen  to  know,"  Craig  replied, 
not  the  least  disconcerted.  "You  can't  always  be  too 
sure." 

A  laugh  and  a  shrug  was  Sato's  answer.  "It's 
well  all  are  not  so  keen,"  he  said,  with  a  frank  ac- 
knowledgment that  he  was  not  above  sharp  prac- 
tices. 

I  glanced  now  and  then  at  the  expressionless  face 


ii4  THE  WAR  TERROR 

of  the  curio  dealer.  Was  it  merely  the  natural 
blankness  of  his  countenance  that  impressed  me,  or 
was  there,  in  fact,  something  deep  and  dark  hidden 
in  it,  something  of  "East  is  East  and  West  is  West" 
which  I  did  not  and  could  not  understand?  Craig 
was  admiring  the  bronzes.  He  had  paused  before 
one,  a  square  metal  fire-screen  of  odd  design,  with 
the  title  on  a  card,  "Japan  Gazing  at  the  World." 

It  represented  Japan  as  an  eagle,  with  beak  and 
talons  of  burnished  gold,  resting  on  a  rocky  island 
about  which  great  waves  dashed.  The  bird  had  an 
air  of  dignity  and  conscious  pride  in  its  strength,  as 
it  looked  out  at  the  world,  a  globe  revolving  in 
space. 

"Do  you  suppose  there  is  anything  significant  in 
that?"  I  asked,  pointing  to  the  continent  of  North 
America,  also  in  gold  and  prominently  in  view. 

"Ah,  honorable  sir,"  answered  Sato,  before  Ken- 
nedy could  reply,  "the  artist  intended  by  that  to  in- 
dicate Japan's  friendliness  for  America  and  Amer- 
ica's greatness." 

He  was  inscrutable.  It  seemed  as  if  he  were 
watching  our  every  move,  and  yet  it  was  done  with 
a  polite  cordiality  that  could  not  give  offense. 

Behind  some  bronzes  of  the  Japanese  Hercules 
destroying  the  demons  and  other  mythical  heroes 
was  a  large  alcove,  or  tokono?na,  decorated  with 
peacock,  stork,  and  crane  panels.  Carvings  and  lac- 
quer added  to  the  beauty  of  it.  A  miniature  chrys- 
anthemum garden  heightened  the  illusion.  Carved 
hinoki  wood  framed  the  panels,  and  the  roof  was 
supported  by  columns  in  the  old  Japanese  style,  the 
whole  being  a  compromise  between  the  very  simple 
and  quiet  and  the  polychromatic.  The  dark  woods, 
the  lanterns,  the  floor  tiles  of  dark  red,  and  the 


THE  "PILLAR  OF  DEATH"         115 

cushions  of  rich  gold  and  yellow  were  most  allur- 
ing.    It  had  the  genuine  fascination  of  the  Orient. 

"Will  the  gentlemen  drink  a  little  sake?"  Sato 
asked  politely. 

Craig  thanked  him  and  said  that  we  would. 

"Otaka !"  Sato  called. 

A  peculiar,  almost  white-skinned  attendant  an- 
swered, and  a  moment  later  produced  four  cups  and 
poured  out  the  rice  brandy,  taking  his  own  quietly, 
apart  from  us.  I  watched  him  drink,  curiously.  He 
took  the  cup ;  then,  with  a  long  piece  of  carved  wood, 
he  dipped  into  the  sake,  shaking  a  few  drops  on  the 
floor  to  the  four  quarters.  Finally,  with  a  deft 
sweep,  he  lifted  his  heavy  mustache  with  the  piece 
of  wood  and  drank  off  the  draft  almost  without  tak- 
ing breath. 

He  was  a  peculiar  man  of  middle  height,  with  a 
shock  of  dark,  tough,  woolly  hair,  well  formed  and 
not  bad-looking,  with  a  robust  general  physique,  as 
if  his  ancestors  had  been  meat  eaters.  His  fore- 
head was  narrow  and  sloped  backward;  the  cheek- 
bones were  prominent;  nose  hooked,  broad  and  wide, 
with  strong  nostrils;  mouth  large,  with  thick  lips, 
and  not  very  prominent  chin.  His  eyes  were  per- 
haps the  most  noticeable  feature.  They  were  dark 
gray,  almost  like  those  of  a  European. 

As  Otaka  withdrew  with  the  empty  cups,  we  rose 
to  continue  our  inspection  of  the  wonders  of  the 
shop.  There  were  ivories  of  all  descriptions.  Here 
was  a  two-handled  sword,  with  a  very  large  ivory 
handle,  a  weirdly  carved  scabbard,  and  wonderful 
steel  blade.  By  the  expression  of  Craig's  face,  Sato 
knew  that  he  had  made  a  sale. 

Craig  had  been  rummaging  among  some  warlike 
instruments  which  Sato,  with  the  instincts  of  a  true 


u6  THE  WAR  TERROR 

salesman,  was  now  displaying,  and  had  picked  up 
a  bow.  It  was  short,  very  strong,  and  made  of  pine 
wood.  He  held  it  horizontally  and  twanged  the 
string.  I  looked  up  in  time  to  catch  a  pleased  ex- 
pression on  the  face  of  Otaka. 

"Most  people  would  have  held«it  the  other  way," 
commented  Sato. 

Craig  said  nothing,  but  was  examining  an  arrow, 
almost  twenty  inches  long  and  thick,  made  of  cane, 
with  a  point  of  metal  very  sharp  but  badly  fastened. 
He  fingered  the  deep  blood  groove  in  the  scooplike 
head  of  the  arrow  and  looked  at  it  carefully. 

"I'll  take  that,"  he  said,  "only  I  wish  it  were  one 
with  the  regular  reddish-brown  lump  in  it." 

"Oh,  but,  honorable  sir,"  apologized  Sato,  "the 
Japanese  law  prohibits  that,  now.  There  are  few 
of  those,  and  they  are  very  valuable." 

"I  suppose  so,"  agreed  Craig.  "This  will  do, 
though.  You  have  a  wonderful  shop  here,  Sato. 
Some  time,  when  I  feel  richer,  I  mean  to  come  in 
again.  ,  No,  thank  you,  you  need  not  send  them;  I'll 
carry  them." 

We  bowed  ourselves  out,  promising  to  come  again 
when  Sato  received  a  new  consignment  from  the 
Orient  which  he  was  expecting. 

"That  other  Jap  is  a  peculiar  fellow,"  I  observed, 
as  we  walked  along  uptown  again. 

"He  isn't  a  Jap,"  remarked  Craig.  "He  is  an 
Ainu,  one  of  the  aborigines  who  have  been  driven 
northward  into  the  island  of  Yezo." 

"An  Ainu?"  I  repeated. 

"Yes.  Generally  thought,  now,  to  be  a  white 
race  and  nearer  of  kin  to  Europeans  than  Asiatics. 
The  Japanese  have  pushed  them  northward  and  are 
now  trying  to  civilize  them.    They  are  a  dirty,  hairy 


THE  "PILLAR  OF  DEATH"         117 

race,  but  when  they  are  brought  under  civilizing  in- 
fluences they  adapt  themselves  to  their  environment 
and  make  very  good  servants.  Still,  they  are  on 
about  the  lowest  scale  of  humanity." 

"I  thought  Otaka  was  very  mild,"  I  commented. 

"They  are  a  most  inoffensive  and  peaceable  peo- 
ple usually,"  he  answered,  "good-natured  and  amen- 
able to  authority.  But  they  become  dangerous  when 
driven  to  despair  by  cruel  treatment.  The  Japanese 
government  is  very  considerate  of  them — but  not  all 
Japanese  are." 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE  ARROW  POISON 

Far  into  the  night  Craig  was  engaged  in  some 
very  delicate  and  minute  microscopic  work  in  the 
laboratory. 

We  were  about  to  leave  when  there  was  a  gentle 
tap  on  the  door.  Kennedy  opened  it  and  admitted 
a  young  man,  the  operative  of  the  detective  agency 
who  had  been  shadowing  Bernardo.  His  report  was 
very  brief,  but,  to  me  at  least,  significant.  Ber- 
nardo, on  his  return  to  the  museum,  had  evidently 
read  the  letter,  which  had  agitated  him  very  much, 
for  a  few  moments  later  he  hurriedly  left  and  went 
downtown  to  the  Prince  Henry  Hotel.  The  opera- 
tive had  casually  edged  up  to  the  desk  and  over- 
heard whom  he  asked  for.  It  was  Senora  Her- 
reria.  Once  again,  later  in  the  evening,  he  had 
asked  for  her,  but  she  was  still  out. 

It  was  quite  early  the  next  morning,  when  Ken- 
nedy had  resumed  his  careful  microscopic  work,  that 
the  telephone  bell  rang,  and  he  answered  it  mechani- 
cally. But  a  moment  later  a  look  of  intense  surprise 
crossed  his  face. 

"It  was  from  Doctor  Leslie,"  he  announced, 
hanging  up  the  receiver  quickly.  "He  has  a  most 
peculiar  case  which  he  wants  me  to  see — a  woman." 

Kennedy  called  a  cab,  and,  at  a  furious  pace,  we 
dashed  across  the  city  and  down  to  the  Metropolitan 

118 


THE  ARROW  POISON  119 

Hospital,  where  Doctor  Leslie  was  waiting.  He 
met  us  eagerly  and  conducted  us  to  a  little  room 
where,  lying  motionless  on  a  bed,  was  a  woman. 

She  was  a  striking-looking  woman,  dark  of  hair 
and  skin,  and  in  life  she  must  have  been  sensuously 
attractive.  But  now  her  face  was  drawn  and  con- 
torted— with  the  same  ghastly  look  that  had  been  on 
the  face  of  Northrop. 

"She  died  in  a  cab,"  explained  Doctor  Leslie,  "be- 
fore they  could  get  her  to  the  hospital.  At  first  they 
suspected  the  cab  driver.  But  he  seems  to  have 
proved  his  innocence.  He  picked  her  up  last  night 
on  Fifth  Avenue,  reeling — thought  she  was  intoxi- 
cated. And,  in  fact,  he  seems  to  have  been  right. 
Our  tests  have  shown  a  great  deal  of  alcohol  pres- 
ent, but  nothing  like  enough  to  have  had  such  a  seri- 
ous effect." 

"She  told  nothing  of  herself?"  asked  Kennedy. 

"No;  she  was  pretty  far  gone  when  the  cabby 
answered  her  signal.  All  he  could  get  out  of  her 
was  a  word  that  sounded  like  'Curio-curio.'  He 
says  she  seemed  to  complain  of  something  about  her 
mouth  and  head.  Her  face  was  drawn  and 
shrunken;  her  hands  were  cold  and  clammy,  and 
then  convulsions  came  on.  He  called  an  ambulance, 
but  she  was  past  saving  when  it  arrived.  The  numb- 
ness seemed  to  have  extended  over  all  her  body; 
swallowing  was  impossible ;  there  was  entire  loss  of 
her  voice  as  well  as  sight,  and  death  took  place  by 
syncope." 

"Have  you  any  clue  to  the  cause  of  her  death?" 
asked  Craig. 

"Well,  it  might  have  been  some  trouble  with  her 
heart,  I  suppose,"  remarked  Doctor  Leslie  tenta- 
tively. 


!2o  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"Oh,  she  looks  strong  that  way.  No,  hardly  any- 
thing organic." 

"Well,  then  I  thought  she  looked  like  a  Mexi- 
can," went  on  Doctor  Leslie.  "It  might  be  some 
new  tropical  disease.  I  confess  I  don't  know.  The 
fact  is,"  he  added,  lowering  his  voice,  "I  had  my 
own  theory  about  it  until  a  few  moments  ago.  That 
was  why  I  called  you." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Craig,  evidently 
bent  on  testing  his  own  theory  by  the  other's  igno- 
rance. 

Doctor  Leslie  made  no  answer  immediately,  but 
raised  the  sheet  which  covered  her  body  and  dis- 
closed, in  the  fleshy  part  of  the  upper  arm,  a  curi- 
ous little  red  swollen  mark  with  a  couple  of  drops 
of  darkened  blood.  / 

"I  thought  at  first,"  he  added,  "that  we  had  at 
last  a  genuine  'poisoned  needle'  case.  You  see,  that 
looked  like  it.  But  I  have  made  all  the  tests  for 
curare  and  strychnin  without  results." 

At  the  mere  suggestion,  a  procession  of  hypo- 
dermic-needle and  white-slavery  stories  flashed  be- 
fore me. 

"But,"  objected  Kennedy,  "clearly  this  was  not 
a  case  of  kidnaping.  It  is  a  case  of  murder.  Have 
you  tested  for  the  ordinary  poisons?" 

Doctor  Leslie  shook  his  head.  "There  was  no 
poison,"  he  said,  "absolutely  none  that  any  of  our 
tests  could  discover." 

Kennedy  bent  over  and  squeezed  out  a  few  drops 
of  liquid  from  the  wound  on  a  microscope  slide,  and 
covered  them. 

"You  have  not  identified  her  yet,"  he  add  :d,  look- 
ing up.  "I  think  you  will  find,  Leslie,  that  there  is 
a  Sefiora  Herreria  registered  at  the  Princj  Henry 


THE  ARROW  POISON  121 

who  is  missing,  and  that  this  woman  will  agree  with 
the  description  of  her.  Anyhow,  I  wish  you  would 
look  it  up  and  let  me  know." 

Half  an  hour  later,  Kennedy  was  preparing  to 
continue  his  studies  with  the  microscope  when  Doc- 
tor Bernardo  entered.  He  seemed  most  solicitous  to 
know  what  progress  was  being  made  on  the  case, 
and,  although  Kennedy  did  not  tell  much,  still  he 
did  not  discourage  conversation  on  the  subject. 

When  we  came  in  the  night  before,  Craig  had 
unwrapped  and  tossed  down  the  Japanese  sword 
and  the  Ainu  bow  and  arrow  on  a  table,  and  it  was 
not  long  before  they  attracted  Bernardo's  attention. 

"I  see  you  are  a  collector  yourself,"  he  ventured, 
picking  them  up. 

"Yes,"  answered  Craig,  offhand;  "I  picked  them 
up  yesterday  at  Sato's.    You  know  the  place?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  Sato,"  answered  the  curator, 
seemingly  without  the  slightest  hesitation.  "He  has 
been  in  Mexico — is  quite  a  student." 

"And  the  other  man,  Otaka?" 

"Other  man — Otaka?    You  mean  his  wife?" 

T  saw  Kennedy  check  a  motion  of  surprise  and 
came  to  the  rescue  with  the  natural  question:  "His 
wife — with  a  beard  and  mustache?" 

It  was  Bernardo's  turn  to  be  surprised.  He 
looked  at  me  a  moment,  then  saw  that  I  meant  it, 
and  suddenly  his  face  lighted  up. 

"Oh,"  he  exclaimed,  "that  must  have  been  on 
account  of  the  immigration  laws  or  something  of 
the  sort.  Otaka  is  his  wife.  The  Ainus  are  much 
sought  after  by  the  Japanese  as  wives.  The  women, 
you  know,  have  a  custom  of  tattooing  mustaches  on 
themselves.  It  is  hideous,  but  they  think  it  is  beau- 
tiful." 


122  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"I  know,"  I  pursued,  watching  Kennedy's  interest 
in  our  conversation,  "but  this  was  not  tattooed." 

"Well,  then,  it  must  have  been  false,"  insisted 
Bernardo. 

The  curator  chatted  a  few  moments,  during  which 
I  expected  Kennedy  to  lead  the  conversation  around 
to  Senora  Herreria.  But  he  did  not,  evidently  fear- 
ing to  show  his  hand. 

"What  did  you  make  of  it?"  I  asked,  when  he 
had  gone.    "Is  he  trying  to  hide  something?" 

"I  think  he  has  simplified  the  case,"  remarked 
Craig,  leaning  back,  his  hands  behind  his  head, 
gazing  up  at  the  ceiling.  "Hello,  here's  Leslie! 
What  did  you  find,  Doctor?"  The  coroner  had  en- 
tered with  a  look  of  awe  on  his  face,  as  if  Kennedy 
had  directed  him  by  some  sort  of  necromancy. 

"It  was  Senora  Herreria!"  he  exclaimed.  "She 
has  been  missing  from  the  hotel  ever  since  late  yes- 
terday afternoon.    What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"I  think,"  replied  Kennedy,  speaking  slowly  and 
deliberately,  "that  it  is  very  much  like  the  Northrop 
case.     You  haven't  taken  that  up  yet?" 

"Only  superficially.  What  do  you  make  of  it?" 
asked  the  coroner. 

"I  had  an  idea  that  it  might  be  aconitin  poison- 
ing," he  said. 

Leslie  glanced  at  him  keenly  for  a  moment. 
"Then  you'll  never  prove  anything  in  the  labora- 
tory," he  said. 

"There  are  more  ways  of  catching  a  criminal, 
Leslie,"  put  in  Craig,  "than  are  set  down  in  the 
medico-legal  text-books.  I  shall  depend  on  you  and 
Jameson  to  gather  together  a  rather  cosmopolitan 
crowd  here  to-night." 

He  said  it  with  a  quiet  confidence  which  I  could 


THE  ARROW  POISON  123 

not  gainsay,  although  I  did  not  understand.  How- 
ever, mostly  with  the  official  aid  of  Doctor  Leslie,  I 
followed  out  his  instructions,  and  it  was  indeed  a 
strange  party  that  assembled  that  night.  There 
were  Doctor  Bernardo;  Sato,  the  curio  dealer; 
Otaka,  the  Ainu,  and  ourselves.  Mrs.  Northrop, 
of  course,  could  not  come. 

"Mexico,"  began  Craig,  after  he  had  said  a  few 
words  explaining  why  he  had  brought  us  together, 
"is  full  of  historical  treasure.  To  all  intents  and 
purposes,  the  government  says,  'Come  and  dig.'  But 
when  there  are  finds,  then  the  government  swoops 
down  on  them  for  its  own  national  museum.  The 
finder  scarcely  gets  a  chance  to  export  them.  How- 
ever, now  seemed  to  be  the  time  to  Professor  Nor- 
throp to  smuggle  his  finds  out  of  the  country. 

"But  evidently  it  could  not  be  done  without  excit- 
ing all  kinds  of  rumors  and  suspicions.  Stories  seem 
to  have  spread  far  and  fast  about  what  he  had  dis- 
covered. He  realized  the  unsettled  condition  of  the 
country — perhaps  wanted  to  confirm  his  reading  of 
a  certain  inscription  by  consultation  with  one  scholar 
whom  he  thought  he  could  trust.  At  any  rate,  he 
came  home." 

Kennedy  paused,  making  use  of  the  silence  for 
emphasis.  "You  have  all  read  of  the  wealth  that 
Cortez  found  in  Mexico.  Where  are  the  gold  and 
silver  of  the  conquistadores?  Gone  to  the  melting 
pot,  centuries  ago.  But  is  there  none  left?  The 
Indians  believe  so.  There  are  persons  who  would 
stop  at  nothing — even  at  murder  of  American  pro- 
fessors, murder  of  their  own  comrades,  to  get  at 
the  secret." 

He  laid  his  hand  almost  lovingly  on  his  power- 


124  THE  WAR  TERROR 

ful  little  microscope  as  he  resumed  on  another  line 
of  evidence. 

"And  while  we  are  on  the  subject  of  murders, 
two  very  similar  deaths  have  occurred,"  he  went  on. 
"It  is  of  no  use  to  try  to  gloss  them  over.  Frankly, 
I  suspected  that  they  might  have  been  caused  by 
aconite  poisoning.  But,  in  the  case  of  such  poison- 
ing, not  only  is  the  lethal  dose  very  small  but  our 
chemical  methods  of  detection  are  nil.  The  dose  of 
the  active  principle,  aconitin  nitrate,  is  about  one 
six-hundredth  of  a  grain.  There  are  no  color  tests, 
no  reactions,  as  in  the  case  of  the  other  organic 
poisons." 

I  wondered  what  he  was  driving  at.  Was  there, 
indeed,  no  test?  Had  the  murderer  used  the  safest 
of  poisons — one  that  left  no  clue  ?  I  looked  covertly 
at  Sato's  face.  It  was  impassive.  Doctor  Ber- 
nardo was  visibly  uneasy  as  Kennedy  proceeded. 
Cool  enough  up  to  the  time  of  the  mention  of  the 
treasure,  I  fancied,  now,  that  he  was  growing  more 
and  more  nervous. 

Craig  laid  down  on  the  table  the  reed  stick  with 
the  little  darkened  cylinder  on  the  end. 

"That,"  he  said,  "is  a  little  article  which  I  picked 
up  beneath  Northrop's  window  yesterday.  It  is  a 
piece  of  anno-noki,  or  bushi."  I  fancied  I  saw  just 
a  glint  of  satisfaction  in  Otaka's  eyes. 

"Like  many  barbarians,"  continued  Craig,  "the 
Ainus  from  time  immemorial  have  prepared  virulent 
poisons  with  which  they  charged  their  weapons  of 
the  chase  and  warfare.  The  formulas  for  the 
preparations,  as  in  the  case  of  other  arrow  poisons 
of  other  tribes,  are  known  only  to  certain  members, 
and  the  secret  is  passed  down  from  generation  to 
generation  as  an  heirloom,  as  it  were.     But  in  this 


THE  ARROW  POISON  125 

case  it  is  no  longer  a  secret.  It  has  now  been  proved 
that  the  active  principle  of  this  poison  is  aconite." 

"If  that  is  the  case,"  broke  in  Doctor  Leslie,  "it 
is  hopeless  to  connect  anyone  directly  in  that  way 
with  these  murders.    There  is  no  test  for  aconitin." 

I  thought  Sato's  face  was  more  composed  and 
impassive  than  ever.  Doctor  Bernardo,  however, 
was  plainly  excited. 

"What — no  test — none?"  asked  Kennedy,  lean- 
ing forward  eagerly.  Then,  as  if  he  could  restrain 
the  answer  to  his  own  question  no  longer,  he  shot 
out:  "How  about  the  new  starch  test  just  discov- 
ered by  Professor  Reichert,  of  the  University  of 
Pennsylvania?  Doubtless  you  never  dreamed  that 
starch  may  be  a  means  of  detecting  the  nature  of  a 
poison  in  obscure  cases  in  criminology,  especially  in 
cases  where  the  quantity  of  poison  necessary  to  cause 
death  is  so  minute  that  no  trace  of  it  can  be  found 
in  the  blood. 

"The  starch  method  is  a  new  and  extremely  in- 
viting subject  to  me.  The  peculiarities  of  the  starch 
of  any  plant  are  quite  as  distinctive  of  the  plant  as 
are  those  of  the  hemoglobin  crystals  in  the  blood  of 
an  animal.  I  have  analyzed  the  evidence  of  my 
microscope  in  this  case  thoroughly.  When  the  ar- 
row poison  is  introduced  subcutaneously — say,  by  a 
person  shooting  a  poisoned  dart,  which  he  afterward 
removes  in  order  to  destroy  the  evidence — the  lethal 
constituents  are  rapidly  absorbed. 

"But  the  starch  remains  in  the  wound.  It  can  be 
recovered  and  studied  microscopically  and  can  be 
definitely  recognized.  Doctor  Reichert  has  pub- 
lished a  study  of  twelve  hundred  such  starches  from 
all  sorts  of  plants.  In  this  case,  it  not  only  proves 
to  be  aconitin  but  the  starch  granules  themselves  can 


126  THE  WAR  TERROR 

be  recognized.  They  came  from  this  piece  of  arrow 
poison." 

Every  eye  was  fixed  on  him  now. 

"Besides,"  he  rapped  out,  "in  the  soft  soil  be- 
neath the  window  of  Profesor  Northrop's  room,  I 
found  footprints.  I  have  only  to  compare  the  im- 
pressions I  took,  there  and  those  of  the  people  in  this 
room,  to  prove  that,  while  the  real  murderer  stood 
guard  below  the  window,  he  sent  some  one  more 
nimble  up  the  rain  pipe  to  shoot  the  poisoned  dart  at 
Professor  Northrop,  and,  later,  to  let  down  a  rope 
by  which  he,  the  instigator,  could  gain  the  room,  re- 
move the  dart,  and  obtain  the  key  to  the  treasure 
he  sought." 

Kennedy  was  looking  straight  at  Professor  Ber- 
nardo. 

"A  friend  of  mine  in  Mexico  has  written  me  about 
an  inscription,"  he  burst  out.  "I  received  the  letter 
only  to-day.  As  nearly  as  I  can  gather,  there  was 
an  impression  that  some  of  Northrop's  stuff  would 
be  valuable  in  proving  the  alleged  kinship  between 
Mexico  and  Japan,  perhaps  to  arouse  hatred  of  the 
United  States." 

"Yes — that  is  all  very  well,"  insisted  Kennedy. 
"But  how  about  the  treasure?" 

"Treasure?"  repeated  Bernardo,  looking  from 
one  of  us  to  another. 

"Yes,"  pursued  Craig  relentlessly,  "the  treasure. 
You  are  an  expert  in  reading  the  hieroglyphics.  By 
your  own  statement,  you  and  Northrop  had  been 
going  over  the  stuff  he  had  sent  up.     You  know  it." 

Bernardo  gave  a  quick  glance  from  Kennedy  to 
me.    Evidently  he  saw  that  the  secret  was  out. 

"Yes,"  he  said  huskily,  in  a  low  tone,  "Northrop 
and  I  were  to  follow  the  directions  after  we  had 


THE  ARROW  POISON  127 

plotted  them  out  and  were  to  share  it  together  on 
the  next  expedition,  which  I  could  direct  as  a  Mex- 
ican without  so  much  suspicion.  I  should  still  have 
shared  it  with  his  widow  if  this  unfortunate  affair 
had  not  exposed  the  secret." 

Bernardo  had  risen  earnestly. 

"Kennedy,"  he  cried,  "before  God,  if  you  will  get 
back  that  stone  and  keep  the  secret  from  going 
further  than  this  room,  I  will  prove  what  I  have 
said  by  dividing  the  Mixtec  treasure  with  Mrs. 
Northrop  and  making  her  one  of  the  richest  widows 
in  the  country!" 

"That  is  what  I  wanted  to  be  sure  of,"  nodded 
Craig.  "Bernardo,  Seiiora  Herreria,  of  whom  your 
friend  wrote  to  you  from  Mexico,  has  been  mur- 
dered in  the  same  way  that  Professor  Northrop 
was.  Otaka  was  sent  by  her  husband  to  murder 
Northrop,  in  order  that  they  might  obtain  the  so- 
called  'Pillar  of  Death'  and  the  key  to  the  treasure. 
Then,  when  the  sehora  was  no  doubt  under  the  in- 
fluence of  sake  in  the  pretty  little  Oriental  bower  at 
the  curio  shop,  a  quick  jab,  and  Otaka  had  removed 
one  who  shared  the  secret  with  them." 

He  had  turned  and  faced  the  pair. 

"Sato,"  he  added,  "you  played  on  the  patriotism 
of  the  sehora  until  you  wormed  from  her  the  treas- 
ure secret.  Evidently  rumors  of  it  had  spread  from 
Mexican  Indians  to  Japanese  visitors.  And  then, 
Otaka,  all  jealousy  over  one  whom  she,  no  doubt, 
justly  considered  a  rival,  completed  your  work  by 
sending  her  forth  to  die,  unknown,  on  the  street. 
Walter,  ring  up  First  Deputy  O'Connor.  The  stone 
is  hidden  somewhere  in  the  curio  shop.  We  can 
find  it  without  Sato's  help.     The  quicker  such  a 


128  THE  WAR  TERROR 

criminal  is  lodged  safely  in  jail,  the  better  for  hu- 
manity." 

Sato  was  on  his  feet,  advancing  cautiously  toward 
Craig.  I  knew  the  dangers,  now,  of  anno-noki,  as 
well  as  the  wonders  of  jujutsu,  and,  with  a  leap,  I 
bounded  past  Bernardo  and  between  Sato  and  Ken- 
nedy. 

How  it  happened,  I  don't  know,  but,  an  instant 
later,  I  was  sprawling. 

Before  I  could  recover  myself,  before  even  Craig 
had  a  chance  to  pull  the  hair-trigger  of  his  auto- 
matic, Sato  had  seized  the  Ainu  arrow  poison  from 
the  table,  had  bitten  the  little  cylinder  in  half,  and 
had  crammed  the  other  half  into  the  mouth  of 
Otaka. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE  RADIUM  ROBBER 

Kennedy  simply  reached  for  the  telephone  and 
called  an  ambulance.  But  it  was  purely  perfunctory. 
Dr.  Leslie  himself  was  the  only  official  who  could 
handle  Sato's  case  now. 

We  had  planned  a  little  vacation  for  ourselves, 
but  the  planning  came  to  naught.  The  next  night 
we  spent  on  a  sleeper.  That  in  itself  is  work  to 
me. 

It  all  came  about  through  a  hurried  message  from 
Murray  Denison,  president  of  the  Federal  Radium 
Corporation.  Nothing  would  do  but  that  he  should 
take  both  Kennedy  and  myself  with  him  post-haste 
to  Pittsburgh  at  the  first  news  of  what  had  imme- 
diately been  called  "the  great  radium  robbery." 

Of  course  the  newspapers  were  full  of  it.  The 
very  novelty  of  an  ultra-modern  cracksman  going  off 
with  something  worth  upward  of  a  couple  of  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars — and  all  contained  in  a  few 
platinum  tubes  which  could  be  tucked  away  in  a  vest 
pocket — had  something  about  it  powerfully  appeal- 
ing to  the  imagination. 

"Most  ingenious,  but,  you  see,  the  trouble  with 
that  safe  is  that  it  was  built  to  keep  radium  in — 
not  cracksmen  out,"  remarked  Kennedy,  when  Deni- 
son had  rushed  us  from  the  train  to  take  a  look  at 
the  little  safe  in  the  works  of  the  Corporation. 

129 


130  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"Breaking  into  such  a  safe  as  this,"  added  Ken- 
nedy, after  a  cursory  examination,  "is  simple  enough, 
after  all." 

It  was,  however,  a  remarkably  ingenious  contriv- 
ance, about  three  feet  in  height  and  of  a  weight  of 
perhaps  a  ton  and  a  half,  and  all  to  house  some- 
thing weighing  only  a  few  grains. 

"But,"  Denison  hastened  to  explain,  "we  had  to 
protect  the  radium  not  only  against  burglars,  but, 
so  to  speak,  against  itself.  Radium  emanations  pass 
through  steel  and  experiments  have  shown  that  the 
best  metal  to  contain  them  is  lead.  So,  the  difficulty 
was  solved  by  making  a  steel  outer  case  enclosing 
an  inside  leaden  shell  three  inches  thick." 

Kennedy  had  been  toying  thoughtfully  with  the 
door. 

"Then  the  door,  too,  had  to  be  contrived  so  as 
to  prevent  any  escape  of  the  emanations  through 
joints.  It  is  lathe  turned  and  circular,  a  'dead  fit.' 
By  means  of  a  special  contrivance  any  slight  loose- 
ness caused  by  wear  and  tear  of  closing  can  be  ad- 
justed. And  another  feature.  That  is  the  appli- 
ance for  preventing  the  loss  of  emanation  when  the 
door  is  opened.  Two  valves  have  been  inserted  into 
the  door  and  before  it  is  opened  tubes  with  mercury 
are  passed  through  which  collect  and  store  the 
emanation." 

"All  very  nice  for  the  radium,"  remarked  Craig 
cheerfully.  "But  the  fellow  had  only  to  use  an  elec- 
tric drill  and  the  gram  or  more  of  radium  was  his." 

"I  know  that — now,"  ruefully  persisted  Denison. 
"But  the  safe  was  designed  for  us  specially.  The 
fellow  got  into  it  and  got  away,  as  far  as  I  can  see, 
without  leaving  a  clue." 


THE  RADIUM  ROBBER  131 

"Except  one,  of  course,"  interrupted  Kennedy 
quickly. 

Denison  looked  at  him  a  moment  keenly,  then 
nodded  and  said,  "Yes — you  are  right.  You  mean 
one  which  he  must  bear  on  himself?" 

"Exactly.  You  can't  carry  a  gram  or  more  of 
radium  bromide  long  with  impunity.  The  man  to 
look  for  is  one  who  in  a  few  days  will  have  some- 
where on  his  body  a  radium  burn  which  will  take 
months  to  heal.  The  very  thing  he  stole  is  a  verita- 
ble Frankenstein's  monster  bent  on  the  destruction 
of  the  thief  himself!" 

Kennedy  had  meanwhile  picked  up  one  of  the 
Corporation's  circulars  lying  on  a  desk.  He  ran 
his  eye  down  the  list  of  names. 

"So,  Hartley  Haughton,  the  broker,  is  one  of 
your  stockholders,"  mused  Kennedy. 

"Not  only  one  but  the  one,"  replied  Denison 
with  obvious  pride. 

Haughton  was  a  young  man  who  had  come  re- 
cently into  his  fortune,  and,  while  no  one  believed  it 
to  be  large,  he  had  cut  quite  a  figure  in  Wall  Street. 

"You  know,  I  suppose,"  added  Denison,  "that  he 
is  engaged  to  Felicie  Woods,  the  daughter  of  Mrs. 
Courtney  Woods?" 

Kennedy  did  not,  but  said  nothing. 

"A  most  delightful  little  girl,"  continued  Denison 
thoughtfully.  "I  have  known  Mrs.  Woods  for 
some  time.  She  wanted  to  invest,  but  I  told  her 
frankly  that  this  is,  after  all,  a  speculation.  We 
may  not  be  able  to  swing  so  big  a  proposition,  but, 
if  not,  no  one  can  say  we  have  taken  a  dollar  of 
money  from  widows  and  orphans." 

"I  should  like  to  see  the  works,"  nodded  Ken- 
nedy approvingly. 


132  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"By  all  means." 

The  plant  was  a  row  of  long  low  buildings  of 
brick  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  once  devoted  to 
the  making  of  vanadium  steel.  The  ore,  as  Deni- 
son  explained,  was  brought  to  Pittsburgh  because  he 
had  found  here  already  a  factory  which  could  readily 
be  turned  into  a  plant  for  the  extraction  of  radium. 
Huge  baths  and  vats  and  crucibles  for  the  various 
acids  and  alkalis  and  other  processes  used  in  treat- 
ing the  ore  stood  at  various  points. 

"This  must  be  like  extracting  gold  from  sea  wa- 
ter," remarked  Kennedy  jocosely,  impressed  by  the 
size  of  the  plant  as  compared  to  the  product. 

"Except  that  after  we  get  through  we  have  some- 
thing infinitely  more  precious  than  gold,"  replied 
Denison,  "something  which  warrants  the  trouble  and 
outlay.  Yes,  the  fact  is  that  the  percentage  of 
radium  in  all  such  ores  is  even  less  than  of  gold  in 
sea  water." 

"Everything  seems  to  be  most  carefully  guarded," 
remarked  Kennedy  as  we  concluded  our  tour  of  the 
well-appointed  works. 

He  had  gone  over  everything  in  silence,  and  now 
at  last  we  had  returned  to  the  safe. 

"Yes,"  he  repeated  slowly,  as  if  confirming  his 
original  impression,  "such  an  amount  of  radium  as 
was  stolen  wouldn't  occasion  immediate  discomfort 
to  the  thief,  I  suppose,  but  later  no  infernal  machine 
could  be  more  dangerous  to  him." 

I  pictured  to  myself  the  series  of  fearful  works  of 
mischief  and  terror  that  might  follow,  a  curse  on 
the  thief  worse  than  that  of  the  weirdest  curses  of 
the  Orient,  the  danger  to  the  innocent,  and  the  fact 
that  in  the  hands  of  a  criminal  it  was  an  instrument 
for  committing  crimes  that  might  defy  detection. 


THE  RADIUM  ROBBER  133 

"There  is  nothing  more  to  do  here  now,"  he  con- 
cluded. "I  can  see  nothing  for  the  present  except 
to  go  back  to  New  York.  The  telltale  burn  may  not 
be  the  only  clue,  but  if  the  thief  is  going  to  profit  by 
his  spoils  we  shall  hear  about  it  best  in  New  York 
or  by  cable  from  London,  Paris,  or  some  other  Eu- 
ropean city." 

Our  hurried  departure  from  New  York  had  not 
given  us  a  chance  to  visit  the  offices  of  the  Radium 
Corporation  for  the  distribution  of  the  salts  them- 
selves. They  were  in  a  little  old  office  building  on 
William  Street,  near  the  drug  district  and  yet 
scarcely  a  moment's  walk  from  the  financial  district. 

"Our  head  bookkeeper,  Miss  Wallace,  is  ill,"  re- 
marked Denison  when  we  arrived  at  the  office,  "but 
if  there  is  anything  I  can  do  to  help  you,  I  shall  be 
glad  to  do  it.  We  depend  on  Miss  Wallace  a  great 
deal.    Haughton  says  she  is  the  brains  of  the  office." 

Kennedy  looked  about  the  well-appointed  suite 
curiously. 

"Is  this  another  of  those  radium  safes?"  he  asked, 
approaching  one  similar  in  appearance  to  that  which 
had  been  broken  open  already. 

"Yes,  only  a  little  larger." 

"How  much  is  in  it?" ' 

"Most  of  our  supply.  I  should  say  about  two  and 
a  half  grams.     Miss  Wallace  has  the  record." 

"It  is  of  the  same  construction,  I  presume,"  pur- 
sued Kennedy.  "I  wonder  whether  the  lead  lining 
fits  closely  to  the  steel?" 

"I  think  not,"  considered  Denison.  "As  I  remem- 
ber there  was  a  sort  of  insulating  air  cushion  or 
something  of  the  sort." 

Denison  was  quite  eager  to  show  us  about.  In 
fact  ever  since  he  had  hustled  us  out  to  view  the 


134  THE  WAR  TERROR 

scene  of  the  robbery,  his  high  nervous  tension  had 
given  us  scarcely  a  moment's  rest.  For  hours  he 
had  talked  radium,  until  I  felt  that  he,  like  his  metal, 
must  have  an  inexhaustible  emanation  of  words.  He 
was  one  of  those  nervous,  active  little  men,  a  born 
salesman,  whether  of  ribbons  or  radium. 

"We  have  just  gone  into  furnishing  radium  wa- 
ter," he  went  on,  bustling  about  and  patting  a  little 
glass  tank. 

I  looked  closely  and  could  see  that  the  water 
glowed  in  the  dark  with  a  peculiar  phosphorescence. 

"The  apparatus  for  the  treatment,"  he  continued, 
"consists  of  two  glass  and  porcelain  receptacles.  In- 
side the  larger  receptacle  is  placed  the  smaller,  which 
contains  a  tiny  quantity  of  radium.  Into  the  larger 
receptacle  is  poured  about  a  gallon  of  filtered  water. 
The  emanation  from  that  little  speck  of  radium  is 
powerful  enough  to  penetrate  its  porcelain  holder 
and  charge  the  water  with  its  curative  properties. 
From  a  tap  at  the  bottom  of  the  tank  the  patient 
draws  the  number  of  glasses  of  water  a  day  pre- 
scribed. For  such  purposes  the  emanation  within 
a  day  or  two  of  being  collected  is  as  good  as  radium 
itself.  Why,  this  water  is  five  thousand  times  as 
radioactive  as  the  most  radioactive  natural  spring 
water." 

"You  must  have  control  of  a  comparatively  large 
amount  of  the  metal,"  suggested  Kennedy. 

"We  are,  I  believe,  the  largest  holders  of  radium 
in  the  world,"  he  answered.  "I  have  estimated  that 
all  told  there  are  not  much  more  than  ten  grams,  of 
which  Madame  Curie  has  perhaps  three,  while  Sir 
Ernest  Cassel  of  London  is  the  holder  of  perhaps 
as  much.  We  have  nearly  four  grams,  leaving  about 
Six  or  seven  tor  the  rest  of  the  world." 


THE  RADIUM  ROBBER  135 

Kennedy  nodded  and  continued  to  look  about. 

"The  Radium  Corporation,"  went  on  Denison, 
"has  several  large  deposits  of  radioactive  ore  in 
Utah  in  what  is  known  as  the  Poor  Little  Rich  Val- 
ley, a  valley  so  named  because  from  being  about  the 
barrenest  and  most  unproductive  mineral  or  agri- 
cultural hole  in  the  hills,  the  sudden  discovery  of  the 
radioactive  deposits  has  made  it  almost  priceless." 

He  had  entered  a  private  office  and  was  looking 
over  some  mail  that  had  been  left  on  his  desk  dur- 
ing his  absence. 

"Look  at  this,"  he  called,  picking  up  a  clipping 
from  a  newspaper  which  had  been  laid  there  for  his 
attention.     "You  see,  we  have  them  aroused." 

We  read  the  clipping  together  hastily : 

PLAN  TO  CORNER  WORLD'S  RADIUM 

London. — Plans  are  being  matured  to  form  a 
large  corporation  for  the  monopoly  of  the  existing 
and  future  supply  of  radium  throughout  the  world. 
The  company  is  to  be  called  Universal  Radium,  Lim- 
ited, and  the  capital  of  ten  million  dollars  will  be 
offered  for  public  subscription  at  par  simultaneously 
in  London,  Paris  and  New  York. 

The  company's  business  will  be  to  acquire  mines 
and  deposits  of  radioactive  substances  as  well  as  the 
control  of  patents  and  processes  connected  with  the 
production  of  radium.  The  outspoken  purpose  of 
the  new  company  is  to  obtain  a  world-wide  monopoly 
and  maintain  the  price. 

"Ah — a  competitor,"  commented  Kennedy,  hand- 
ing back  the  clipping. 

"Yes.  You  know  radium  salts  used  always  to 
come  from  Europe.     Now  we  are  getting  ready  to 


136  THE  WAR  TERROR 

do  some  exporting  ourselves.  Say,"  he  added  ex- 
citedly, "there's  an  idea,  possibly,  in  that." 

"How?"  queried  Craig. 

"Why,  since  we  should  be  the  principal  competi- 
tors to  the  foreign  mines,  couldn't  this  robbery  have 
been  due  to  the  machinations  of  these  schemers?  To 
my  mind,  the  United  States,  because  of  its  supply  of 
radium-bearing  ores,  will  have  to  be  reckoned  with 
first  in  cornering  the  market.  This  is  the  point,  Ken- 
nedy. Would  those  people  who  seem  to  be  trying 
to  extend  their  new  company  all  over  the  world  stop 
at  anything  in  order  to  cripple  us  at  the  start?" 

How  much  longer  Denison  would  have  rattled  on 
in  his  effort  to  explain  the  robbery,  I  do  not  know. 
The  telephone  rang  and  a  reporter  from  the  Record, 
who  had  just  read  my  own  story  in  the  Star,  asked 
for  an  interview.  I  knew  that  it  would  be  only  a 
question  of  minutes  now  before  the  other  men  were 
wearing  a  path  out  on  the  stairs,  and  we  managed 
to  get  away  before  the  onrush  began. 

"Walter,"  said  Kennedy,  as  soon  as  we  had 
reached  the  street.  "I  want  to  get  in  touch  with 
Halsey  Haughton.    How  can  it  be  done?" 

I  could  think  of  nothing  better  at  that  moment 
than  to  inquire  at  the  Star's  Wall  Street  office,  which 
happened  to  be  around  the  corner.  I  knew  the  men 
down  there  intimately,  and  a  few  minutes  later  we 
were  whisked  up  in  the  elevator  to  the  office. 

They  were  as  glad  to  see  me  as  I  was  to  see  them, 
for  the  story  of  the  robbery  had  interested  the  finan- 
cial district  perhaps  more  than  any  other. 

"Where  can  I  find  Halsey  Haughton  at  this 
hour?"  I  asked. 

"Say,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  men,  "what's  the 
matter?     There  have  been  all  kinds  of  rumors  in 


THE  RADIUM  ROBBER  137 

the  Street  about  him  to-day.  Did  you  know  he  was 
ill?" 

"No,"  I  answered.     "Where  is  he?" 

"Out  at  the  home  of  his  fiancee,  who  is  the  daugh- 
ter of  Mrs.  Courtney  Woods,  at  Glenclair." 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  persisted. 

"That's  just  it.  No  one  seems  to  know.  They 
say — well — they  say  he  has  a  cancer." 

Halsey  Haughton  suffering  from  cancer?  It  was 
such  an  uncommon  thing  to  hear  of  a  young  man  that 
I  looked  up  quickly  in  surprise.  Then  all  at  once  it 
flashed  over  me  that  Denison  and  Kennedy  had  dis- 
cussed the  matter  of  burns  from  the  stolen  radium. 
Might  not  this  be,  instead  of  cancer,  a  radium 
burn? 

Kennedy,  who  had  been  standing  a  little  apart 
from  me  while  I  was  talking  with  the  boys,  signaled 
to  me  with  a  quick  glance  not  to  say  too  much,  and 
a  few  minutes  later  we  were  on  the  street  again. 

I  knew  without  being  told  that  he  was  bound  by 
the  next  train  to  the  pretty  little  New  Jersey  suburb 
of  Glenclair. 

It  was  late  when  we  arrived,  yet  Kennedy  had 
no  hesitation  in  calling  at  the  quaint  home  of  Mrs. 
Courtney  Woods  on  Woodridge  Avenue. 

Mrs.  Woods,  a  well-set-up  woman  of  middle  age, 
who  had  retained  her  youth  and  good  looks  in  a  re- 
markable manner,  met  us  in  the  foyer.  Briefly, 
Kennedy  explained  that  we  had  just  come  in  from 
Pittsburgh  with  Mr.  Denison  and  that  it  was  very 
important  that  we  should  see  Haughton  at  once. 

We  had  hardly  told  her  the  object  of  our  visit 

when  a  young  woman  of  perhaps  twenty-two  or 

three,  a  very  pretty  girl,  with  all  the  good  looks  of 

her  mother  and  a  freshness  which  only  youth  can 

10 


138  THE  WAR  TERROR 

possess,  tiptoed  quietly  downstairs.  Her  face  told 
plainly  that  she  was  deeply  worried  over  the  illness 
of  her  fiance. 

"Who  is  it,  mother?"  she  whispered  from  the 
turn  in  the  stairs.  "Some  gentlemen  from  the  com- 
pany? Hartley's  door  was  open  when  the  bell  rang, 
and  he  thought  he  heard  something  said  about  the 
Pittsburgh  affair." 

Though  she  had  whispered,  it  had  not  been  for 
the  purpose  of  concealing  anything  from  us,  but 
rather  that  the  keen  ears  of  her  patient  might  not 
catch  the  words.  She  cast  an  inquiring  glance  at 
us. 

"Yes,"  responded  Kennedy  in  answer  to  her  look, 
modulating  his  tone.  "We  have  just  left  Mr.  Deni- 
son  at  the  office.  Might  we  see  Mr.  Haughton  for 
a  moment?  I  am  sure  that  nothing  we  can  say  or 
do  will  be  as  bad  for  him  as  our  going  away,  now 
that  he  knows  that  we  are  here." 

The  two  women  appeared  to  consult  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"Felicie,"  called  a  rather  nervous  voice  from  the 
second  floor,  "is  it  some  one  from  the  company?" 

"Just  a  moment,  Hartley,"  she  answered,  then, 
lower  to  her  mother,  added,  "I  don't  think  it  can  do 
any  harm,  do  you,  mother?" 

"You  remember  the  doctor's  orders,  my  dear." 

Again  the  voice  called  her. 

"Hang  the  doctor's  orders,"  the  girl  exclaimed, 
with  an  air  of  almost  masculinity.  "It  can't  be  half 
so  bad  as  to  have  him  worry.  Will  you  promise  not 
to  stay  long?  We  expect  Dr.  Bryant  in  a  few  mo- 
ments, anyway." 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE  SPINTHARISCOPE 

We  followed  her  upstairs  and  into  Haughton's 
room,  where  he  was  lying  in  bed,  propped  up  by 
pillows.  Haughton  certainly  was  ill.  There  was 
no  mistake  about  that.  He  was  a  tall,  gaunt  man 
with  an  air  about  him  that  showed  that  he  found 
illness  very  irksome.  Around  his  neck  was  a  band- 
age, and  some  adhesive  tape  at  the  back  showed 
that  a  plaster  of  some  sort  had  been  placed  there. 

As  we  entered  his  eyes  traveled  restlessly  from 
the  face  of  the  girl  to  our  own  in  an  inquiring  man- 
ner. He  stretched  out  a  nervous  hand  to  us,  while 
Kennedy  in  a  few  short  sentences  explained  how  we 
had  become  associated  with  the  case  and  what  we 
had  seen  already. 

"And  there  is  not  a  clue?"  he  repeated  as  Craig 
finished. 

"Nothing  tangible  yet,"  reiterated  Kennedy.  "I 
suppose  you  have  heard  of  this  rumor  from  London 
of  a  trust  that  is  going  into  the  radium  field  inter- 
nationally?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "that  is  the  thing  you  read 
to  me  in  the  morning  papers,  you  remember,  Felicie. 
Denison  and  I  have  heard  such  rumors  before.  If 
it  is  a  fight,  then  we  shall  give  them  a  fight.  They 
can't  hold  us  up,  if  Denison  is  right  in  thinking  that 
they  are  at  the  bottom  of  this — this  robbery." 

*39 


140  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"Then  you  think  he  may  be  right?"  shot  out  Ken- 
nedy quickly. 

Haughton  glanced  nervously  from  Kennedy  to 
me. 

"Really,"  he  answered,  "you  see  how  impossible 
it  is  for  me  to  have  an  opinion?  You  and  Denison 
have  been  over  the  ground.  You  know  much  more 
about  it  than  I  do.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to 
defer  to  you." 

Again  we  heard  the  bell  downstairs,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  a  cheery  voice,  as  Mrs.  Woods  met  some 
one  down  in  the  foyer,  asked,  "How  is  the  patient 
to-night?" 

We  could  not  catch  the  reply. 

"Dr.  Bryant,  my  physician,"  put  in  Haughton. 
"Don't  go.  I  will  assume  the  responsibility  for 
your  being  here.  Hello,  Doctor.  Why,  I'm  much 
the  same  to-night,  thank  you.  At  least  no  worse 
since  I  took  your  advice  and  went  to  bed." 

Dr.  Bryant  was  a  bluff,  hearty  man,  with  the  per- 
sonal magnetism  which  goes  with  the  making  of  a 
successful  physician.  He  had  mounted  the  stairs 
quietly  but  rapidly,  evidently  prepared  to  see  us. 

"Would  you  mind  waiting  in  this  little  dressing 
room?"  asked  the  doctor,  motioning  to  another, 
smaller  room  adjoining. 

He  had  taken  from  his  pocket  a  little  instrument 
with  a  dial  face  like  a  watch,  which  he  attached  to 
Haughton's  wrist. 

"A  pocket  instrument  to  measure  blood  pressure," 
whispered  Craig,  as  we  entered  the  little  room. 

While  the  others  were  gathered  about  Haughton, 
we  stood  in  the  next  room,  out  of  earshot.  Ken- 
nedy had  leaned  his  elbow  on  a  chiffonier.  As  he 
looked  about  the  little  room,  more  from  force  of 


THE  SPINTHARISCOPE  141 

habit  than  because  he  thought  he  might  discover 
anything,  Kennedy's  eye  rested  on  a  glass  tray  on 
the  top  in  which  lay  some  pins,  a  collar  button  or 
two,  which  Haughton  had  apparently  just  taken  off, 
and  several  other  little  unimportant  articles. 

Kennedy  bent  over  to  look  at  the  glass  tray  more 
closely,  a  puzzled  look  crossed  his  face,  and  with  a 
glance  at  the  other  room  he  gathered  up  the  tray 
and  its  contents. 

''Keep  up  a  good  courage,"  said  Dr.  Bryant. 
"You'll  come  out  all  right,  Haughton."  Then  as 
he  left  the  bedroom  he  added  to  us,  "Gentlemen,  I 
hope  you  will  pardon  me,  but  if  you  could  postpone 
the  remainder  of  your  visit  until  a  later  day,  I  am 
sure  you  will  find  it  more  satisfactory." 

There  was  an  air  of  finality  about  the  doctor, 
though  nothing  unpleasant  in  it.  We  followed  him 
down  the  stairs,  and  as  we  did  so,  Felicie,  who  had 
been  waiting  in  a  reception  room,  appeared  before 
the  portieres,  her  earnest  eyes  fixed  on  his  kindly 
face. 

"Dr.  Bryant,"  she  appealed,  "is  he — is  he,  really 
—so  badly?" 

The  Doctor,  who  had  apparently  known  her  all 
her  life,  reached  down  and  took  one  of  her  hands, 
patting  it  with  his  own  in  a  fatherly  way.  "Don't 
worry,  little  girl,"  he  encouraged.  "We  are  going 
to  come  out  all  right — all  right." 

She  turned  from  him  to  us  and,  with  a  bright 
forced  smile  which  showed  the  stuff  she  was  made 
of,  bade  us  good  night. 

Outside,  the  Doctor,  apparently  regretting  that  he 
had  virtually  forced  us  out,  paused  before  his  car. 
"Are  you  going  down  toward  the  station?     Yes? 


f 


142  THE  WAR  TERROR 

I  am  going  that  far.  I  should  be  glad  to  drive  you 
there." 

Kennedy  climbed  into  the  front  seat,  leaving  me 
in  the  rear  where  the  wind  wafted  me  their  brief 
conversation  as  we  sped  down  Woodbridge  Avenue. 

"What  seems  to  be  the  trouble?"  asked  Craig. 

"Very  high  blood  pressure,  for  one  thing,"  re- 
plied the  Doctor  frankly. 

"For  which  the  latest  thing  is  the  radium  water 
cure,  I  suppose?"  ventured  Kennedy. 

"Well,  radioactive  water  is  one  cure  for  harden- 
ing of  the  arteries.  But  I  didn't  say  he  had  harden- 
ing of  the  arteries.  Still,  he  is  taking  the  water, 
With  good  results.    You  are  from  the  company?" 

Kennedy  nodded. 

"It  was  the  radium  water  that  first  interested  him 
in  it.  Why,  we  found  a  pressure  of  230  pounds, 
which  is  frightful,  and  we  have  brought  it  down  to 
150,  not  far  from  normal." 

"Still  that  could  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  sore 
on  his  neck,"  hazarded  Kennedy. 

The  Doctor  looked  at  him  quickly,  then  ahead  at 
the  path  of  light  which  his  motor  shed  on  the  road. 

He  said  nothing,  but  I  fancied  that  even  he  felt 
there  was  something  strange  in  his  silence  over  the 
new  complication.  He  did  not  give  Kennedy  a 
chance  to  ask  whether  there  were  any  other  such 
sores. 

"At  any  rate,"  he  said,  as  he  throttled  down  his 
engine  with  a  flourish  before  the  pretty  little  Glen- 
clair  station,  "that  girl  needn't  worry." 

There  was  evidently  no  use  in  trying  to  extract 
anything  further  from  him.  He  had  said  all  that 
medical  ethics  or  detective  skill  could  get  from  him. 


THE  SPINTHARISCOPE  143 

We  thanked  him  and  turned  to  the  ticket  window  to 
see  how  long  we  should  have  to  wait. 

"Either  that  doctor  doesn't  know  what  he  is  talk- 
ing about  or  he  is  concealing  something,"  remarked 
Craig,  as  we  paced  up  and  down  the  platform.  "I 
am  inclined  to  read  the  enigma  in  the  latter  way." 

Nothing  more  passed  between  us  during  the  jour- 
ney back,  and  we  hurried  directly  to  the  laboratory, 
late  as  it  was.  Kennedy  had  evidently  been  revolv- 
ing something  over  and  over  in  his  mind,  for  the 
moment  he  had  switched  on  the  light,  he  unlocked 
one  of  his  air-  and  dust-proof  cabinets  and  took  from 
it  an  instrument  which  he  placed  on  a  table  before 
him. 

It  was  a  peculiar-looking  instrument,  like  a  round 
glass  electric  battery  with  a  cylinder  atop,  smaller 
and  sticking  up  like  a  safety  valve.  On  that  were 
an  arm,  a  dial,  and  a  lens  fixed  in  such  a  way  as  to 
read  the  dial.  I  could  not  see  what  else  the  rather 
complicated  little  apparatus  consisted  of,  but  inside, 
when  Kennedy  brought  near  it  the  pole  of  a  static 
electric  machine  two  delicate  thin  leaves  of  gold 
seemed  to  fly  wide  apart  when  it  was  charged. 

Kennedy  had  brought  the  glass  tray  near  the 
thing.  Instandy  the  leaves  collapsed  and  he  made 
a  reading  through  the  lens. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"A  radioscope,"  he  replied,  still  observing  the 
scale.  "Really  a  very  sensitive  gold  leaf  electro- 
scope, devised  by  one  of  the  students  of  Madame 
Curie.  This  method  of  detection  is  far  more  sensi- 
tive even  than  the  spectroscope." 

"What  does  it  mean  when  the  leaves  collapse?"  I 
asked. 

"Radium  has  been  near  that  tray,"  he  answered. 


144  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"It  is  radioactive.  I  suspected  it  first  when  I  saw 
that  violet  color.  That  is  what  radium  does  to  that 
kind  of  glass.  You  see,  if  radium  exists  in  a  gram 
of  inactive  matter  only  to  the  extent  of  one  in  ten- 
thousand  million  parts  its  presence  can  be  readily 
detected  by  this  radioscope,  and  everything  that  has 
been  rendered  radioactive  is  the  same.  Ordinarily 
the  air  between  the  gold  leaves  is  insulating.  Bring- 
ing something  radioactive  near  them  renders  the  air 
a  good  conductor  and  the  leaves  fall  under  the  radia- 
tion." 

"Wonderful !"  I  exclaimed,  marveling  at  the  deli- 
cacy of  it. 

"Take  radium  water,"  he  went  on,  "sufficiently 
impregnated  with  radium  emanations  to  be  luminous 
in  the  dark,  like  that  water  of  Denison's.  It  would 
do  the  same.  In  fact  all  mineral  waters  and  the 
so-called  curative  muds  like  fango  are  slightly  radio- 
active. There  seems  to  be  a  little  radium  every- 
where on  earth  that  experiments  have  been  made, 
even  in  the  interiors  of  buildings.  It  is  ubiquitous. 
We  are  surrounded  and  permeated  by  radiations — 
that  soil  out  there  on  the  campus,  the  air  of  this 
room,  all.  But,"  he  added  contemplatively,  "there 
is  something  different  about  that  tray.  A  lot  of 
radium  has  been  near  that,  and  recently." 

"How  about  that  bandage  about  Haughton's 
neck?"  I  asked  suddenly.  "Do  you  think  radium 
could  have  had  anything  to  do  with  that?" 

"Well,  as  to  burns,  there  is  no  particular  imme- 
diate effect  usually,  and  sometimes  even  up  to  two 
weeks  or  more,  unless  the  exposure  has  been  long 
and  to  a  considerable  quantity.  Of  course  radium 
keeps  itself  three  or  four  degrees  warmer  than  other 
things  about  it  constantly.    But  that  isn't  what  does 


THE  SPINTHARISCOPE  145 

the  harm.  It  is  continually  emitting  little  corpuscles, 
which  I'll  explain  some  other  time,  traveling  all  the 
way  from  twenty  to  one  hundred  and  thirty  thousand 
miles  a  second,  and  these  corpuscles  blister  and  cor- 
rode the  flesh  like  quick-moving  missiles  bombarding 
it.  The  gravity  of  such  lesions  increases  with  the 
purity  of  the  radium.  For  instance  I  have  known 
an  exposure  of  half  an  hour  to  a  comparatively 
small  quantity  through  a  tube,  a  box  and  the  clothes 
to  produce  a  blister  fifteen  days  later.  Curie  said  he 
wouldn't  trust  himself  in  a  room  with  a  kilogram  of 
it.  It  would  destroy  his  eyesight,  burn  off  his  skin 
and  kill  him  eventually.  Why,  even  after  a  slight 
exposure  your  clothes  are  radioactive — the  electro- 
scope will  show  that." 

He  was  still  fumbling  with  the  glass  plate  and  the 
various  articles  on  it. 

"There's  something  very  peculiar  about  all  this," 
he  muttered,  almost  to  himself. 

Tired  by  the  quick  succession  of  events  of  the  past 
two  days,  I  left  Kennedy  still  experimenting  in  his 
laboratory  and  retired,  still  wondering  when  the 
real  clue  was  to  develop.  Who  could  it  have  been 
who  bore  the  tell-tale  burn?  Was  the  mark  hid- 
den by  the  bandage  about  Haughton's  neck  the  brand 
of  the  stolen  tubes?  Or  were  there  other  marks  on 
his  body  which  we  could  not  see? 

No  answer  came  to  me,  and  I  fell  asleep  and  woke 
up  without  a  radiation  of  light  on  the  subject.  Ken- 
nedy spent  the  greater  part  of  the  day  still  at  work 
at  his  laboratory,  performing  some  very  delicate  ex- 
periments. Finding  nothing  to  do  there,  I  went 
down  to  the  Star  office  and  spent  my  time  reading 
the  reports  that  came  in  from  the  small  army  of  re- 
porters who  had  been  assigned  to  run  down  clues  in 


146  THE  WAR  TERROR 

the  case  which  was  the  sensation  of  the  moment.  I 
have  always  felt  my  own  lips  sealed  in  such  cases, 
until  the  time  came  that  the  story  was  complete  and 
Kennedy  released  me  from  any  further  need  of  si- 
lence. The  weird  and  impossible  stories  which  came 
in  not  only  to  the  Star  but  to  the  other  papers  surely 
did  make  passable  copy  in  this  instance,  but  with  my 
knowledge  of  the  case  I  could  see  that  not  one  of 
them  brought  us  a  step  nearer  the  truth. 

One  thing  which  uniformly  puzzled  the  newspa- 
pers was  the  illness  of  Haughton  and  his  enforced 
idleness  at  a  time  which  was  of  so  much  importance 
to  the  company  which  he  had  promoted  and  indeed 
very  largely  financed.  Then,  of  course,  there  was 
the  romantic  side  of  his  engagement  to  Felicie 
Woods. 

Just  what  connection  Felicie  Woods  had  with  the 
radium  robbery  if  any,  I  was  myself  unable  quite  to 
fathom.  Still,  that  made  no  difference  to  the  papers. 
She  was  pretty  and  therefore  they  published  her  pic- 
ture, three  columns  deep,  with  Haughton  and  Deni- 
son,  who  were  intimately  concerned  with  the  real 
loss  in  little  ovals  perhaps  an  inch  across  and  two 
inches  in  the  opposite  dimension. 

The  late  afternoon  news  editions  had  gone  to 
press,  and  I  had  given  up  in  despair,  determined  to 
go  up  to  the  laboratory  and  sit  around  idly  watching 
Kennedy  with  his  mystifying  experiments,  in  prefer- 
ence to  waiting  for  him  to  summon  me. 

I  had  scarcely  arrived  and  settled  myself  to  an 
impatient  watch,  when  an  automobile  drove  up  furi- 
ously, and  Denison  himself,  very  excited,  jumped  out 
and  dashed  into  the  laboratory. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Kennedy,  looking 
up  from  a  test  tube  which  he  had  been  examining, 


THE  SPINTHARISCOPE  147 

with  an  air  for  all  the  world  expressive  of  "Why  so 
hot,  little  man?" 

"I've  had  a  threat,"  ejaculated  Denison. 

He  laid  on  one  of  the  laboratory  tables  a  letter, 
without  heading  and  without  signature,  written  in  a 
disguised  hand,  with  an  evident  attempt  to  simulate 
the  cramped  script  of  a  foreign  penmanship. 

"I  know  who  did  the  Pittsburgh  job.  The  same 
party  is  out  to  ruin  Federal  Radium.  Remember 
Pittsburgh  and  be  prepared! 

"A  Stockholder." 

"Well?"  demanded  Kennedy,  looking  up. 

"That  can  have  only  one  meaning,"  asserted  Deni- 
son. 

"What  is  that?"  inquired  Kennedy  coolly,  as  if  to 
confirm  his  own  interpretation. 

"Why,  another  robbery — here  in  New  York,  of 
course." 

"But  who  would  do  it?"  I  asked. 

"Who?"  repeated  Denison.  "Some  one  repre- 
senting that  European  combine,  of  course.  That  is 
only  part  of  the  Trust  method — ruin  of  competitors 
whom  they  cannot  absorb." 

"Then  you  have  refused  to  go  into  the  combine? 
You  know  who  is  backing  it?" 

"No — no,"  admitted  Denison  reluctantly.  "We 
have  only  signified  our  intent  to  go  it  alone,  as  often 
as  anyone  either  with  or  without  authority  has 
offered  to  buy  us  out.  No,  I  do  not  even  know  who 
the  people  are.  They  never  act  in  the  open.  The 
only  hints  I  have  ever  received  were  through  per- 
fectly reputable  brokers  acting  for  others." 

"Does  Haughton  know  of  this  note?"  asked  Ken- 
nedy. 


148  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"Yes.    As  soon  as  I  received  it,  I  called  him  up." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  said  to  disregard  it.  But — you  know  what 
condition  he  is  in.  I  don't  know  what  to  do,  whether 
to  surround  the  office  by  a  squad  of  detectives  or  re- 
move the  radium  to  a.  regular  safety  deposit  vault, 
even  at  the  loss  of  the  emanation.  Haughton  has 
left  it  to  me." 

Suddenly  the  thought  flashed  across  my  mind  that 
perhaps  Haughton  could  act  in  this  uninterested 
fashion  because  he  had  no  fear  of  ruin  either  way. 
Might  he  not  be  playing  a  game  with  the  combina- 
tion in  which  he  had  protected  himself  so  that  he 
would  win,  no  matter  what  happened? 

"What  shall  I  do?"  asked  Denison.  "It  is  get- 
ting late." 

"Neither,"  decided  Kennedy. 

Denison  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  said,  "I  shall 
have  some  one  watch  there,  anyhow." 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE  ASPHYXIATING  SAFE 

Denison  had  scarcely  gone  to  arrange  for  some 
one  to  watch  the  office  that  night,  when  Kennedy, 
having  gathered  up  his  radioscope  and  packed  into 
a  parcel  a  few  other  things  from  various  cabinets, 
announced :  "Walter,  I  must  see  that  Miss  Wallace, 
right  away.  Denison  has  already  given  me  her  ad- 
dress. Call  a  cab  while  I  finish  clearing  up  here.  I 
don't  Kke  the  looks  of  this  thing,  even  if  Haughton 
does  neglect  it." 

We  found  Miss  Wallace  at  a  modest  boarding- 
house  in  an  old  but  still  respectable  part  of  the  city. 
She  was  a  very  pretty  girl,  of  the  slender  type, 
rather  a  business  woman  than  one  given  much  to 
amusement.  She  had  been  ill  and  was  still  ill.  That 
was  evident  from  the  solicitous  way  in  which  the 
motherly  landlady  scrutinized  two  strange  callers. 

Kennedy  presented  a  card  from  Denison,  and  she 
came  down  to  the  parlor  to  see  us. 

"Miss  Wallace,"  began  Kennedy,  "I  know  it  is 
almost  cruel  to  trouble  you  when  you  are  not  feeling 
like  office  work,  but  since  the  robbery  of  the  safe  at 
Pittsburgh,  there  have  been  threats  of  a  robbery  of 
the  New  York  office." 

She  started  involuntarily,  and  it  was  evident,  I 
thought,  that  she  was  in  a  very  highstrung  state. 

149 


150  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "why,  the  loss  means  ruin  to  Mr. 
Denison!" 

There  were  genuine  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she  said 
it. 

"I  thought  you  would  be  willing  to  aid  us,"  pur- 
sued Kennedy  sympathetically.  "Now,  for  one 
thing,  I  want  to  be  perfectly  sure  just  how  much 
radium  the  Corporation  owns,  or  rather  owned  be- 
fore the  first  robbery." 

"The  books  will  show  it,"  she  said  simply. 

"They  will?"  commented  Kennedy.  "Then  if  you 
will  explain  to  me  briefly  just  the  system  you  used 
in  keeping  account  of  it,  perhaps  I  need  not  trouble 
you  any  more." 

"I'll  go  down  there  with  you,"  she  answered 
bravely.     "I'm  better  to-day,  anyhow,  I  think." 

She  had  risen,  but  it  was  evident  that  she  was  not 
as  strong  as  she  wanted  us  to  think. 

"The  least  I  can  do  is  to  make  it  as  easy  as  pos- 
sible by  going  in  a  car,"  remarked  Kennedy,  follow- 
ing her  into  the  hall  where  there  was  a  telephone. 

The  hallway  was  perfectly  dark,  yet  as  she  pre- 
ceded us  I  could  see  that  the  diamond  pin  which 
held  her  collar  in  the  back  sparkled  as  if  a  lighted 
candle  had  been  brought  near  it.  I  had  noticed  in 
the  parlor  that  she  wore  a  handsome  tortoiseshell 
comb  set  with  what  I  thought  were  other  brilliants, 
but  when  I  looked  I  saw  now  that  there  was  not 
the  same  sparkle  to  the  comb  which  held  her  dark 
hair  in  a  soft  mass.  I  noticed  these  little  things 
at  the  time,  not  because  I  thought  they  had  any  im- 
portance, but  merely  by  chance,  wondering  at  the 
sparkle  of  the  one  diamond  which  had  caught  my 
eye. 


THE  ASPHYXIATING  SAFE         151 

"What  do  you  make  of  her?"  I  asked  as  Kennedy 
finished  telephoning. 

UA  very  charming  and  capable  girl,"  he  answered 
noncommittally. 

"Did  you  notice  how  that  diamond  in  her  neck 
sparkled?"  I  asked  quickly. 

He  nodded.  Evidently  it  had  attracted  his  atten- 
tion, too. 

"What  makes  it?"  I  pursued. 

"Well,  you  know  radium  rays  will  make  a  dia- 
mond fluoresce  in  the  dark." 

"Yes,"  I  objected,  "but  how  about  those  in  the 
comb?" 

"Paste,  probably,"  he  answered  tersely,  as  we 
heard  her  foot  on  the  landing.  "The  rays  won't 
affect  paste." 

It  was  indeed  a  shame  to  take  advantage  of  Miss 
Wallace's  loyalty  to  Denison,  but  she  was  so  game 
about  it  that  I  knew  only  the  utmost  necessity  on 
Kennedy's  part  would  have  prompted  him  to  do  it. 
She  had  a  key  to  the  office  so  that  it  was  not  neces- 
sary to  wait  for  Denison,  if  indeed  we  could  have 
found  him. 

Together  she  and  Kennedy  went  over  the  records. 
It  seemed  that  there  were  in  the  safe  twenty-five 
platinum  tubes  of  one  hundred  milligrams  each,  and 
that  there  had  been  twelve  of  the  same  amount  at 
Pittsburgh.  Little  as  it  seemed  in  weight  it  repre- 
sented a  fabulous  fortune. 

"You  have  not  the  combination?"  inquired  Ken- 
nedy. 

"No.  Only  Mr.  Denison  has  that.  What  are 
you  going  to  do  to  protect  the  safe  to-night?"  she 
asked. 

"Nothing  especially,"  evaded  Kennedy. 


154  THE  WAR  TERROR 

It  was  not  until  nearly  midnight  that  he  was  ready 
to  leave  the  laboratory  again,  where  he  had  been 
busily  engaged  in  studying  the  tortoiseshell  comb 
which  Miss  Wallace  in  her  weakness  had  forgotten. 

The  little  shopkeeper  let  us  in  sleepily  and  Ken- 
nedy deposited  a  large  round  package  on  a  chair  in 
the  back  of  the  shop,  as  well  as  a  long  piece  of  rub- 
ber tubing.    Nothing  had  happened  so  far. 

As  we  waited  the  shopkeeper,  now  wide  awake 
and  not  at  all  unconvinced  that  we  were  bent  on  some 
criminal  operation,  hung  around.  Kennedy  did  not 
seem  to  care.  He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  little 
shiny  brass  instrument  in  a  lead  case,  which  looked 
like  an  abbreviated  microscope. 

"Look  through  it,"  he  said,  handing  it  to  me. 

I   looked   and   could   see   thousands   of   minute 

SD3.TKS 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"A  spinthariscope.  In  that  it  is  possible  to  watch 
the  bombardment  of  the  countless  little  corpuscles 
thrown  off  by  radium,  as  they  strike  on  the  zinc 
blende  crystal  which  forms  the  base.  When  radium 
was  originally  discovered,  the  interest  was  merely  in 
its  curious  properties,  its  power  to  emit  invisible 
rays  which  penetrated  solid  substances  and  rendered 
things  fluorescent,  of  expending  energy  without  ap- 
parent loss. 

"Then  came  the  discovery,"  he  went  on,  "of  its 
curative  powers.  But  the  first  results  were  not  con- 
vincing. Still,  now  that  we  know  the  reasons  why 
radium  may  be  dangerous  and  how  to  protect  our- 
selves against  them  we  know  we  possess  one  of  the 
most T:  onderful  of  curative  agencies." 

I  was  thinking  rather  of  the  dangers  than  of  the 


THE  ASPHYXIATING  SAFE         155 

beneficence  of  radium  just  now,  l>ut  Kennedy  con- 
tinued. 

"It  has  cured  many  malignant  growths  that 
seemed  hopeless,  brought  back  destroyed  cells,  ex- 
ercised good  effects  in  diseases  of  the  liver  and  intes- 
tines and  even  the  baffling  diseases  of  the  arteries. 
The  reason  why  harm,  at  first,  as  well  as  good  came, 
is  now  understood.  Radium  emits,  as  I  told  you  be- 
fore, three  kinds  of  rays,  the  alpha,  beta,  and  gamma 
rays,  each  with  different  properties.  The  emana- 
tion is  another  matter.  It  does  not  concern  us  in 
this  case,  as  you  will  see." 

Fascinated  as  I  was  by  the  mystery  of  the  case, 
I  began  to  see  that  he  was  gradually  arriving  at  an 
explanation  which  had  baffled  everyone  else. 

"Now,  the  alpha  rays  are  the  shortest,"  he 
launched  forth,  "in  length  let  us  say  one  inch.  They 
exert  a  very  destructive  effect  on  healthy  tissue. 
That  is  the  cause  of  injury.  They  are  stopped  by 
glass,  aluminum  and  other  metals,  and  are  really 
particles  charged  with  positive  electricity.  The  beta 
rays  come  next,  say,  about  an  inch  and  a  half.  They 
stimulate  cell  growth.  Therefore  they  are  danger- 
ous in  cancer,  though  good  in  other  ways.  They 
can  be  stopped  by  lead,  and  are  really  particles 
charged  with  negative  electricity.  The  gamma  rays 
are  the  longest,  perhaps  three  inches  long,  and  it  is 
these  rays  which  effect  cures,  for  they  check  the  ab- 
normal and  stimulate  the  normal  cells.  They  pene- 
trate lead.  Lead  seems  to  filter  them  out  from  the 
other  rays.  And  at  three  inches  the  other  rays  don't 
reach,  anyhow.  The  gamma  rays  are  not  charged 
with  electricity  at  all,  apparently." 

He  had  brought  a  little  magnet  near  the  spinthari- 
scope.    I  looked  into  it. 


154  THE  WAR  TERROR 

It  was  not  until  nearly  midnight  that  he  was  ready 
to  leave  the  laboratory  again,  where  he  had  been 
busily  engaged  in  studying  the  tortoiseshell  comb 
which  Miss  Wallace  in  her  weakness  had  forgotten. 

The  little  shopkeeper  let  us  in  sleepily  and  Ken- 
nedy deposited  a  large  round  package  on  a  chair  in 
the  back  of  the  shop,  as  well  as  a  long  piece  of  rub- 
ber tubing.    Nothing  had  happened  so  far. 

As  we  waited  the  shopkeeper,  now  wide  awake 
and  not  at  all  unconvinced  that  we  were  bent  on  some 
criminal  operation,  hung  around.  Kennedy  did  not 
seem  to  care.  He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  little 
shiny  brass  instrument  in  a  lead  case,  which  looked 
like  an  abbreviated  microscope. 

"Look  through  it,"  he  said,  handing  it  to  me. 

I  looked  and  could  see  thousands  of  minute 
soarks 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"A  spinthariscope.  In  that  it  is  possible  to  watch 
the  bombardment  of  the  countless  little  corpuscles 
thrown  off  by  radium,  as  they  strike  on  the  zinc 
blende  crystal  which  forms  the  base.  When  radium 
was  originally  discovered,  the  interest  was  merely  in 
its  curious  properties,  its  power  to  emit  invisible 
rays  which  penetrated  solid  substances  and  rendered 
things  fluorescent,  of  expending  energy  without  ap- 
parent loss. 

"Then  came  the  discovery,"  he  went  on,  "of  its 
curative  powers.  But  the  first  results  were  not  con- 
vincing. Still,  now  that  we  know  the  reasons  why 
radium  may  be  dangerous  and  how  to  protect  our- 
selves against  them  we  know  we  possess  one  of  the 
most  v  onderful  of  curative  agencies." 

I  was  thinking  rather  of  the  dangers  than  of  the 


THE  ASPHYXIATING  SAFE         155 

beneficence  of  radium  just  now,  but  Kennedy  con- 
tinued. 

"It  has  cured  many  malignant  growths  that 
seemed  hopeless,  brought  back  destroyed  cells,  ex- 
ercised good  effects  in  diseases  of  the  liver  and  intes- 
tines and  even  the  baffling  diseases  of  the  arteries. 
The  reason  why  harm,  at  first,  as  well  as  good  came, 
is  now  understood.  Radium  emits,  as  I  told  you  be- 
fore, three  kinds  of  rays,  the  alpha,  beta,  and  gamma 
rays,  each  with  different  properties.  The  emana- 
tion is  another  matter.  It  does  not  concern  us  in 
this  case,  as  you  will  see." 

Fascinated  as  I  was  by  the  mystery  of  the  case, 
I  began  to  see  that  he  was  gradually  arriving  at  an 
explanation  which  had  baffled  everyone  else. 

"Now,  the  alpha  rays  are  the  shortest,"  he 
launched  forth,  "in  length  let  us  say  one  inch.  They 
exert  a  very  destructive  effect  on  healthy  tissue. 
That  is  the  cause  of  injury.  They  are  stopped  by 
glass,  aluminum  and  other  metals,  and  are  really 
particles  charged  with  positive  electricity.  The  beta 
rays  come  next,  say,  about  an  inch  and  a  half.  They 
stimulate  cell  growth.  Therefore  they  are  danger- 
ous in  cancer,  though  good  in  other  ways.  They 
can  be  stopped  by  lead,  and  are  really  particles 
charged  with  negative  electricity.  The  gamma  rays 
are  the  longest,  perhaps  three  inches  long,  and  it  is 
these  rays  which  effect  cures,  for  they  check  the  ab- 
normal and  stimulate  the  normal  cells.  They  pene- 
trate lead.  Lead  seems  to  filter  them  out  from  the 
other  rays.  And  at  three  inches  the  other  rays  don't 
reach,  anyhow.  The  gamma  rays  are  not  charged 
with  electricity  at  all,  apparently." 

He  had  brought  a  little  magnet  near  the  spinthari- 
scope.    I  looked  into  it. 


156  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"A  magnet,"  he  explained,  "shows  the  difference 
between  the  alpha,  beta,  and  gamma  rays.  You  see 
those  weak  and  wobbly  rays  that  seem  to  fall  to  one 
side?  Those  are  the  alpha  rays.  They  have  a 
strong  action,  though,  on  tissues  and  cells.  Those 
falling  in  the  other  direction  are  the  beta  rays.  The 
gamma  rays  seem  to  flow  straight." 

"Then  it  is  the  alpha  rays  with  which  we  are  con- 
cerned mostly  now?"  I  queried,  looking  up. 

"Exactly.  That  is  why,  when  radium  is  unpro- 
tected or  insufficiently  protected  and  comes  too  near, 
it  is  destructive  of  healthy  cells,  produces  burns, 
sores,  which  are  most  difficult  to  heal.  It  is  with 
the  explanation  of  such  sores  that  we  must  deal." 

It  was  growing  late.  We  had  waited  patiently 
now  for  some  time.  Kennedy  had  evidently  re- 
served this  explanation,  knowing  we  should  have  to 
wait.     Still  nothing  happened. 

Added  to  the  mystery  of  the  violet-colored  glass 
plate  was  now  that  of  the  luminescent  diamond.  I 
was  about  to  ask  Kennedy  point-blank  what  he 
thought  of  them,  when  suddenly  the  little  bell  before 
us  began  to  buzz  feebly  under  the  influence  of  a  cur- 
rent. 

I  gave  a  start.  The  faithful  little  selenium  cell 
burglar  alarm  had  done  the  trick.  I  knew  that 
selenium  was  a  good  conductor  of  electricity  in  the 
light,  poor  in  the  dark.  Some  one  had,  therefore, 
flashed  a  light  on  one  of  the  cells  in  the  Corporation 
office.  It  was  the  moment  for  which  Kennedy  had 
prepared. 

Seizing  the  round  package  and  the  tubing,  he 
dashed  out  on  the  street  and  around  the  corner.  He 
tried  the  door  opening  into  the  Radium  Corpora- 
tion hallway.     It  was  closed,  but  unlocked.     As  it 


THE  ASPHYXIATING  SAFE         157 

yielded  and  we  stumbled  in,  up  the  old  worn  wooden 
stairs  of  the  building,  I  knew  that  there  must  be 
some  one  there. 

A  terrific,  penetrating,  almost  stunning  odor 
seemed  to  permeate  the  air  even  in  the  hall. 

Kennedy  paused  at  the  door  of  the  office,  tried 
it,  found  it  unlocked,  but  did  not  open  it. 

"That  smell  is  ethyldichloracetate,"  he  explained. 
"That  was  what  I  injected  into  the  air  cushion  of 
that  safe  between  the  two  linings.  I  suppose  my 
man  here  used  an  electric  drill.  He  might  have 
used  thermit  or  an  oxyacetylene  blowpipe  for  all  I 
would  care.  These  fumes  would  discourage  a 
cracksman  from  'soup' — to  nuts,"  he  laughed,  thor- 
oughly pleased  at  the  protection  modern  science  had 
enabled  him  to  devise. 

As  we  stood  an  instant  by  the  door,  I  realized 
what  had  happened.  We  had  captured  our  man. 
He  was  asphyxiated! 

Yet  how  were  we  to  get  to  him?  Would  Craig 
leave  him  in  there,  perhaps  to  die?  To  go  in  our- 
selves meant  to  share  his  fate,  whatever  might  be 
the  effect  of  the  drug. 

Kennedy  had  torn  the  wrapping  off  the  package. 
From  it  he  drew  a  huge  globe  with  bulging  windows 
of  glass  in  the  front  and  several  curious  arrange- 
ments on  it  at  other  points.  To  it  he  fitted  the  rub- 
ber tubing  and  a  little  pump.  Then  he  placed  the 
globe  over  his  head,  like  a  diver's  helmet,  and  fas- 
tened some  air-tight  rubber  arrangement  about  his 
neck  and  shoulders. 

"Pump,  Walter !"  he  shouted.  "This  is  an  oxygen 
helmet  such  as  is  used  in  entering  mines  filled  with 
deadly  gases." 

Without  another  word  he  was  gone  into  the  black- 


158  THE  WAR  TERROR 

ness  of  the  noxious  stifle  which  filled  the  Radium 
Corporation  office  since  the  cracksman  had  struck 
the  unexpected  pocket  of  rapidly  evaporating  stuff. 

I  pumped  furiously. 

Inside  I  could  hear  him  blundering  around.  What 
was  he  doing? 

He  was  coming  back  slowly.  Was  he,  too,  over- 
come? 

As  he  emerged  into  the  darkness  of  the  hallway 
where  I  myself  was  almost  sickened,  I  saw  that  he 
was  dragging  with  him  a  limp  form. 

A  rush  of  outside  air  from  the  street  door  seemed 
to  clear  things  a  little.  Kennedy  tore  off  the  oxygen 
helmet  and  dropped  down  on  his  knees  beside  the 
figure,  working  its  arms  in  the  most  approved  man- 
ner of  resuscitation. 

"I  think  we  can  do  it  without  calling  on  the  pul- 
motor,"  he  panted.  "Walter,  the  fumes  have  cleared 
away  enough  now  in  the  outside  office.  Open  a  win- 
dow— and  keep  that  street  door  open,  too." 

I  did  so,  found  the  switch  and  turned  on  the 
lights. 

It  was  Denison  himself  1 

For  many  minutes  Kennedy  worked  over  him.  I 
bent  down,  loosened  his  collar  and  shirt,  and  looked 
eagerly  at  his  chest  for  the  tell-tale  marks  of  the 
radium  which  I  felt  sure  must  be  there.  There  was 
not  even  a  discoloration. 

Not  a  word  was  said,  as  Kennedy  brought  the 
stupefied  little  man  around. 

Denison,  pale,  shaken,  was  leaning  back  now  in 
a  big  office  chair,  gasping  and  holding  his  head. 

Kennedy,  before  him,  reached  down  into  his 
pocket  and  handed  him  the  spinthariscope. 

"You  see  that?"  he  demanded. 


THE  ASPHYXIATING  SAFE         159 

Denison  looked  through  the  eyepiece. 

"Wh — where  did  you  get  so  much  of  it?"  he 
asked,  a  queer  look  on  his  face. 

"I  got  that  bit  of  radium  from  the  base  of  the 
collar  button  of  Hartley  Haughton,"  replied  Ken-, 
nedy  quietly,  "a  collar  button  which  some  one  inti- 
mate with  him  had  substituted  for  his  own,  bringing 
that  deadly  radium  with  only  the  minutest  protec- 
tion of  a  thin  strip  of  metal  close  to  the  back  of  his 
neck,  near  the  spinal  cord  and  the  medulla  oblongata 
which  controls  blood  pressure.  That  collar  button 
was  worse  than  the  poisoned  rings  of  the  Borgias. 
And  there  is  more  radium  in  the  pretty  gift  of  a  tor- 
toiseshell  comb  with  its  paste  diamonds  which  Miss 
Wallace  wore  in  her  hair.  Only  a  fraction  of  an 
inch,  not  enough  to  cut  off  the  deadly  alpha  rays, 
protected  the  wearers  of  those  articles." 

He  paused  a  moment,  while  surging  through  my 
mind  came  one  after  another  the  explanations  of  the 
hitherto  inexplicable.  Denison  seemed  almost  to 
cringe  in  the  chair,  weak  already  from  the  fumes. 

"Besides,"  went  on  Kennedy  remorselessly,  "when 
I  went  in  there  to  drag  you  out,  I  saw  the  safe  open. 
I  looked.  There  was  nothing  in  those  pretty  plati- 
num tubes,  as  I  suspected.  European  trust — bah! 
All  the  cheap  devices  of  a  faker  with  a  confederate 
in  London  to  send  a  cablegram — and  another  in 
New  York  to  send  a  threatening  letter." 

Kennedy  extended  an  accusing  forefinger  at  the 
man  cowering  before  him. 

"This  is  nothing  but  a  get-rich-quick  scheme, 
Denison.  There  never  was  a  milligram  of  radium  in 
the  Poor  Little  Rich  Valley,  not  a  milligram  here 
in  all  the  carefully  kept  reports  of  Miss  Wallace — 1 
except  what  was  bought  outside  by  the  Corporation 


160  THE  WAR  TERROR 

with  the  money  it  collected  from  its  dupes.  Haugh- 
ton  has  been  fleeced.  Miss  Wallace,  blinded  by  her 
loyalty  to  you — you  will  always  find  such  a  faithful 
girl  in  such  schemes  as  yours — has  been  fooled. 

"And  how  did  you  repay  it?  What  was  cleverer, 
you  said  to  yourself,  than  to  seem  to  be  robbed  of 
what  you  never  had,  to  blame  it  on  a  bitter  rival 
who  never  existed?  Then  to  make  assurance  doubly 
sure,  you  planned  to  disable,  perhaps  get  rid  of  the 
come-on  whom  you  had  trimmed,  and  the  faithful 
girl  whose  eyes  you  had  blinded  to  your  gigantic 
swindle. 

"Denison,"  concluded  Kennedy,  as  the  man  drew 
back,  his  very  face  convicting  him,  "Denison,  you 
are  the  radium  robber — robber  in  another  sense!" 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE  DEAD  LINE 

Maiden  Lane,  no  less  than  Wall  Street,  was 
deeply  interested  in  the  radium  case.  In  fact,  it 
seemed  that  one  case  in  this  section  of  the  city  led 
to  another. 

Naturally,  the  Star  and  the  other  papers  made 
much  of  the  capture  of  Denison.  Still,  I  was  not 
prepared  for  the  host  of  Maiden  Lane  cases  that 
followed.  Many  of  them  were  essentially  trivial. 
But  one  proved  to  be  of  extreme  importance. 

"Professor  Kennedy,  I  have  just  heard  of  your 
radium  case,  and  I — I  feel  that  I  can — trust  you." 

There  was  a  note  of  appeal  in  the  hesitating  voice 
of  the  tall,  heavily  veiled  woman  whose  card  had 
been  sent  up  to  us  with  a  nervous  "Urgent"  writ- 
ten across  its  face. 

It  was  very  early  in  the  morning,  but  our  visitor 
was  evidently  completely  unnerved  by  some  news 
which  she  had  just  received  and  which  had  sent  her 
posting  to  see  Craig. 

Kennedy  met  her  gaze  directly  with  a  look  that 
arrested  her  involuntary  effort  to  avoid  it  again. 
She  must  have  read  in  his  eyes  more  than  in  his 
words  that  she  might  trust  him. 

"I — I  have  a  confession  to  make,"  she  faltered. 

"Please  sit  down,  Mrs.  Moulton,"  he  said  simply. 
161 


1 62  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"It  is  my  business  to  receive  confidences — and  to 
keep  them." 

She  sank  into,  rather  than  sat  down  in,  the  deep 
leather  rocker  beside  his  desk,  and  now  for  the  first 
time  raised  her  veil. 

Antoinette  Moulton  was  indeed  stunning,  an  ex- 
quisite creature  with  a  wonderful  charm  of  slender 
youth,  brightness  of  eye  and  brunette  radiance. 

I  knew  that  she  had  been  on  the  musical  comedy 
stage  and  had  had  a  rapid  rise  to  a  star  part  before 
her  marriage  to  Lynn  Moulton,  the  wealthy  law- 
yer, almost  twice  her  age.  I  knew  also  that  she 
had  given  up  the  stage,  apparently  without  a  regret. 
Yet  there  was  something  strange  about  the  air  of 
secrecy  of  her  visit.  Was  there  a  hint  in  it  of  a 
disagreement  between  the  Moultons,  I  wondered, 
as  I  waited  while  Kennedy  reassured  her. 

Her  distress  was  so  unconcealed  that  Craig,  for 
the  moment,  laid  aside  his  ordinary  inquisitorial 
manner.  "Tell  me  just  as  much  or  just  as  little  as 
you  choose,  Mrs.  Moulton,"  he  added  tactfully.  "I 
will  do  my  best." 

A  look  almost  of  gratitude  crossed  her  face. 

"When  we  were  married,"  she  began  again,  "my 
husband  gave  me  a  beautiful  diamond  necklace.  Oh, 
it  must  have  been  worth  a  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars easily.  It  was  splendid.  Everyone  has  heard 
of  it.  You  know,  Lynn — er — Mr.  Moulton,  has  al- 
ways been  an  enthusiastic  collector  of  jewels." 

She  paused  again  and  Kennedy  nodded  reassur- 
ingly. I  knew  the  thought  in  his  mind.  Moulton 
had  collected  one  gem  that  was  incomparable  with 
all  the  hundred  thousand  dollar  necklaces  in  exist- 
ence. 

"Several  months  ago,"  she  went  on  rapidly,  still 


THE  DEAD  LINE  163 

avoiding  his  eyes  and  forcing  the  words  from  her 
reluctant  lips,  "I — oh,  I  needed  money — terribly." 

She  had  risen  and  faced  him,  pressing  her  daintily 
gloved  hands  together  in  a  little  tremble  of  emotion 
which  was  none  the  less  genuine  because  she  had 
studied  the  art  of  emotion. 

"I  took  the  necklace  to  a  jeweler,  Herman  Schloss, 
of  Maiden  Lane,  a  man  with  whom  my  husband  had 
often  had  dealings  and  whom  I  thought  I  could  trust. 
Under  a  promise  of  secrecy  he  loaned  me  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars  on  it  and  had  an  exact  replica  in  paste 
made  by  one  of  his  best  workmen.  This  morning, 
just  now,  Mr.  Schloss  telephoned  me  that  his  safe 
had  been  robbed  last  night.     My  necklace  is  gone !" 

She  threw  out  her  hands  in  a  wildly  appealing 
gesture. 

"And  if  Lynn  finds  that  the  necklace  in  our  wall 
safe  is  of  paste — as  he  will  find,  for  he  is  an  expert 
in  diamonds — oh — what  shall  I  do?  Can't  you — 
can't  you  find  my  necklace  ?" 

Kennedy  was  following  her  now  eagerly.  "You 
were  blackmailed  out  of  the  money?"  he  queried 
casually,  masking  his  question. 

There  was  a  sudden,  impulsive  drooping  of  her 
mouth,  an  evasion  and  keen  wariness  in  her  eyes. 
"I  can't  see  that  that  has  anything  to  do  with  the 
robbery,"  she  answered  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  corrected  Kennedy  quickly. 
"Perhaps  not.  I'm  sorry.  Force  of  habit,  I  sup- 
pose. You  don't  know  anything  more  about  the 
robbery?" 

"N — no,  only  that  it  seems  impossible  that  it 
could  have  happened  in  a  place  that  has  the  won- 
derful burglar  alarm  protection  that  Mr.  Schloss 
described  to  me." 


i64  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"You  know  him  pretty  well?" 

"Only  through  this  transaction,"  she  replied 
hastily.  "I  wish  to  heaven  I  had  never  heard  of 
him." 

The  telephone  rang  insistently. 

"Mrs.  Moulton,"  said  Kennedy,  as  he  returned 
the  receiver  to  the  hook,  "it  may  interest  you  to 
know  that  the  burglar  alarm  company  has  just  called 
me  up  about  the  same  case.  If  I  had  need  of  an 
added  incentive,  which  I  hope  you  will  believe  I 
have  not,  that  might  furnish  it.  I  will  do  my  best," 
he  repeated. 

"Thank  you — a  thousand  times,"  she  cried  fer- 
vently, and,  had  I  been  Craig,  I  think  I  should  have 
needed  no  more  thanks  than  the  look  she  gave  him 
as  he  accompanied  her  to  the  door  of  our  apart- 
ment. 

It  was  still  early  and  the  eager  crowds  were  push- 
ing their  way  to  business  through  the  narrow  net- 
work of  downtown  streets  as  Kennedy  and  I  entered 
a  large  office  on  lower  Broadway  in  the  heart  of  the 
jewelry  trade  and  financial  district. 

"One  of  the  most  amazing  robberies  that  has 
ever  been  attempted  has  been  reported  to  us  this 
morning,"  announced  James  McLear,  manager  of 
the  Hale  Electric  Protection,  adding  with  a  look 
half  of  anxiety,  half  of  skepticism,  "that  is,  if  it  is 
true." 

McLear  was  a  stocky  man,  of  powerful  build  and 
voice  and  a  general  appearance  of  having  been  once 
well  connected  with  the  city  detective  force  before 
an  attractive  offer  had  taken  him  into  this  position 
of  great  responsibility. 

"Herman  Schloss,  one  of  the  best  known  of 
Maiden  Lane  jewelers,"  he  continued,   "has  been 


THE  DEAD  LINE  165 

robbed  of  goods  worth  two  or  three  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars — and  in  spite  of  every  modern  protec- 
tion. So  that  you  will  get  it  clearly,  let  me  show 
you  what  we  do  here." 

He  ushered  us  into  a  large  room,  on  the  walls  of 
which  were  hundreds  of  little  indicators.  From  the 
front  they  looked  like  rows  of  little  square  compart- 
ments, tier  on  tier,  about  the  size  of  ordinary  post- 
office  boxes.  Closer  examination  showed  that  each 
was  equipped  with  a  delicate  needle  arranged  to 
oscillate  backward  and  forward  upon  the  very 
minutest  interference  with  the  electric  current.  Un- 
der the  boxes,  each  of  which  bore  a  number,  was  a 
series  of  drops  and  buzzers  numbered  to  correspond 
with  the  boxes. 

"In  nearly  every  office  in  Maiden  Lane  where 
gems  and  valuable  jewelry  are  stored,"  explained 
McLear,  "this  electrical  system  of  ours  is  installed. 
When  the  safes  are  closed  at  night  and  the  doors 
swung  together,  a  current  of  electricity  is  constantly 
shooting  around  the  safes,  conducted  by  cleverly  con- 
cealed wires.  These  wires  are  picked  up  by  a  cable 
system  which  finds  its  way  to  this  central  office. 
Once  here,  the  wires  are  safeguarded  in  such  man- 
ner that  foreign  currents  from  other  wires  or  from 
lightning  cannot  disturb  the  system." 

We  looked  with  intense  interest  at  this  huge  elec- 
trical pulse  that  felt  every  change  over  so  vast  and 
rich  an  area. 

"Passing  a  big  dividing  board,"  he  went  on,  "they 
are  distributed  and  connected  each  in  its  place  to 
the  delicate  tangent  galvanometers  and  sensitive  in- 
dicators you  see  in  this  room.  These  instantly  an- 
nounce the  most  minute  change  in  the  working  of 
the  current,  and  each  office  has  a  distinct  separate 


166  THE  WAR  TERROR 

metallic  circuit.  Why,  even  a  hole  as  small  as  a  lead 
pencil  in  anything  protected  would  sound  the  alarm 
here." 

Kennedy  nodded  appreciatively. 

"You  see,"  continued  McLear,  glad  to  be  able  to 
talk  to  one  who  followed  him  so  closely,  "it  is  an- 
other evidence  of  science  finding  for  us  greater  se- 
curity in  the  use  of  a  tiny  electric  wire  than  in  mas- 
sive walls  of  steel  and  intricate  lock  devices.  But 
here  is  a  case  in  which,  it  seems,  every  known  pro- 
tection has  failed.  We  can't  afford  to  pass  that  by. 
If  we  have  fallen  down  we  want  to  know  how,  as 
well  as  to  catch  the  burglar." 

"How  are  the  signals  given?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  when  the  day's  business  is  over,  for  in- 
stance, Schloss  would  swing  the  heavy  safe  doors 
together  and  over  them  place  the  doors  of  a  wooden 
cabinet.  That  signals  an  alarm  to  us  here.  We 
answer  it  and  if  the  proper  signal  is  returned,  all 
right.  After  that  no  one  can  tamper  with  the  safe 
later  in  the  night  without  sounding  an  alarm  that 
would  bring  a  quick  investigation." 

"But  suppose  that  it  became  necessary  to  open 
the  safe  before  the  next  morning.  Might  not  some 
trusted  employee  return  to  the  office,  open  it,  give 
the  proper  signals  and  loot  the  safe?" 

"No  indeed,"  he  answered  confidently.  "The 
very  moment  anyone  touches  the  cabinet,  the  alarm 
is  sounded.  Even  if  the  proper  code  signal  is  re- 
turned, it  is  not  sufficient.  A  couple  of  our  trusted 
men  from  the  central  office  hustle  around  there 
anyhow  and  they  don't  leave  until  they  are  satisfied 
that  everything  is  right.  We  have  the  authorized 
signatures  on  hand  of  those  who  are  supposed  to 


THE  DEAD  LINE  167 

open  the  safe  and  a  duplicate  of  one  of  them  must 
be  given  or  there  is  an  arrest." 

McLear  considered  for  a  moment. 

"For  instance,  Schloss,  like  all  the  rest,  was  as- 
signed a  box  in  which  was  deposited  a  sealed  en- 
velope containing  a  key  to  the  office  and  his  own 
signature,  in  this  case,  since  he  alone  knew  the 
combination.  Now,  when  an  alarm  is  sounded,  as 
it  was  last  night,  and  the  key  removed  to  gain 
entrance  to  the  office,  a  record  is  made  and  the  key 
has  to  be  sealed  up  again  by  Schloss.  A  report  is 
also  submitted  showing  when  the  signals  are  re- 
ceived and  anything  else  that  is  worth  recording. 
Last  night  our  men  found  nothing  wrong,  appar- 
ently.    But  this  morning  we  learn  of  the  robbery." 

"The  point  is,  then,"  ruminated  Kennedy,  "what 
happened  in  the  interval  between  the  ringing  of  the 
alarm  and  the  arrival  of  the  special  officers  ?  I  think 
I'll  drop  around  and  look  Schloss'  place  over,"  he 
added  quietly,  evidently  eager  to  begin  at  the  actual 
scene  of  the  crime. 

On  the  door  of  the  office  to  which  McLear  took 
us  was  one  of  those  small  blue  plates  which  chance 
visitors  to  Maiden  Lane  must  have  seen  often.  To 
the  initiated — be  he  crook  or  jeweler — this  simple 
sign  means  that  the  merchant  is  a  member  of  the 
Jewelers'  Security  Alliance,  enough  in  itself,  it  would 
seem,  to  make  the  boldest  burglar  hesitate.  For  it 
is  the  motto  of  this  organization  to  "get"  the  thief 
at  any  cost  and  at  any  time.  Still,  it  had  not  de- 
terred the  burglar  in  this  instance. 

"I  know  people  are  going  to  think  it  is  a  fake 
burglary,"  exclaimed  Schloss,  a  stout,  prosperous- 
looking  gem  broker,  as  we  introduced  ourselves. 
"But  over  two  hundred  thousands  dollars'  worth  of 


1 68  THE  WAR  TERROR 

stones  are  gone,"  he  half  groaned.  "Think  of  it, 
man,"  he  added,  "one  of  the  greatest  robberies 
since  the  Dead  Line  was  established.  And  if  they 
can  get  away  with  it,  why,  no  one  down  here  is  pro- 
tected any  more.  Half  a  billion  dollars  in  jewels 
in  Maiden  Lane  and  John  Street  are  easy  prey 
for  the  cracksmen!" 

Staggering  though  the  loss  must  have  been  to 
him,  he  had  apparently  recovered  from  the  first 
shock  of  the  discovery  and  had  begun  the  fight  to 
get  back  what  had  been  lost. 

It  was,  as  McLear  had  intimated,  a  most  amazing 
burglary,  too.  The  door  of  Schloss'  safe  was  open 
when  Kennedy  and  I  arrived  and  found  the  excited 
jeweler  nervously  pacing  the  office.  Surrounding 
the  safe,  I  noticed  a  wooden  framework  constructed 
in  such  a  way  as  to  be  a  part  of  the  decorative 
scheme  of  the  office. 

Schloss  banged  the  heavy  doors  shut. 

"There,  that's  just  how  it  was — shut  as  tight  as  a 
drum.  There  was  absolutely  no  mark  of  anyone 
tampering  with  the  combination  lock.  And  yet  the 
safe  was  looted!" 

"How  did  you  discover  it?"  asked  Craig.  "I  pre- 
sume you  carry  burglary  insurance?" 

Schloss  looked  up  quickly.  "That's  what  I  ex- 
pected as  a  first  question.  No,  I  carried  very  little 
insurance.  You  see,  I  thought  the  safe,  one  of  those 
new  chrome  steel  affairs,  was  about  impregnable. 
I  never  lost  a  moment's  sleep  over  it;  didn't  think 
it  possible  for  anyone  to  get  into  it.  For,  as  you 
see,  it  is  completely  wired  by  the  Hale  Electric 
Protection — that  wooden  framework  about  it.  No 
one  could  touch  that  when  it  was  set  without  jangling 


THE  DEAD  LINE  169 

a  bell  at  the  central  office  which  would  send  men 
scurrying  here  to  protect  the  place." 

"But  they  must  have  got  past  it,"  suggested  Ken- 
nedy. 

"Yes — they  must  have.  At  least  this  morning  I 
received  the  regular  Hale  report.  It  said  that  their 
wires  registered  last  night  as  though  some  one  was 
tampering  with  the  safe.  But  by  the  time  they  got 
around,  in  less  than  five  minutes,  there  was  no  one 
here,  nothing  seemed  to  be  disturbed.  So  they  set 
it  down  to  induction  or  electrolysis,  or  something 
the  matter  with  the  wires.  I  got  the  report  the  first 
thing  when  I  arrived  here  with  my  assistant, 
Muller." 

Kennedy  was  on  his  knees,  going  over  the  safe 
with  a  fine  brush  and  some  powder,  looking  now 
and  then  through  a   small  magnifying  glass. 

"Not  a  finger  print,"  he  muttered.  "The  cracks- 
man must  have  worn  gloves.  But  how  did  he  get 
in?  There  isn't  a  mark  of  'soup'  having  been  used 
to  blow  it  up,  nor  of  a  'can-opener'  to  rip  it  open, 
if  that  were  possible,  nor  of  an  electric  or  any  other 
kind  of  drill." 

"I've  read  of  those  fellows  who  burn  their  way 
in,"  said  Schloss. 

"But  there  is  no  hole,"  objected  Kennedy,  "not 
a  trace  of  the  use  of  thermit  to  burn  the  way  in  of 
of  the  oxyacetylene  blowpipe  to  cut  a  piece  out. 
Most  extraordinary,"  he  murmured. 

"You  see,"  shrugged  Schloss,  "everyone  will  say 
it  must  have  been  opened  by  one  who  knew  the  com- 
bination. But  I  am  the  only  one.  I  have  never 
written  it  down  or  told  anyone,  not  even  Muller. 
You  understand  what  I  am  up  against?" 

"There's  the  touch  system,"  I  suggested.     "You 


12 


170  THE  WAR  TERROR 

remember,  Craig,  the  old  fellow  who  used  to  file 
his  finger  tips  to  the  quick  until  they  were  so  sensi- 
tive that  he  could  actually  feel  when  he  had  turned 
the  combination  to  the  right  plunger?  Might  not 
that  explain  the  lack  of  finger  prints  also?"  I  added 
eagerly. 

"Nothing  like  that  in  this  case,  Walter,"  objected 
Craig  positively.  "This  fellow  wore  gloves,  all 
right.  No,  this  safe  has  been  opened  and  looted  by 
no  ordinarily  known  method.  It's  the  most  amazing 
case  I  ever  saw  in  that  respect — almost  as  if  we 
had  a  cracksman  in  the  fourth  dimension  to  whom 
the  inside  of  a  closed  cube  is  as  accessible  as  is  the 
inside  of  a  plane  square  to  us  three  dimensional 
creatures.     It  is  almost  incomprehensible." 

I  fancied  I  saw  Schloss'  face  brighten  as  Ken- 
nedy took  this  view.  So  far,  evidently,  he  had  run 
across  only  skepticism. 

"The  stones  were  unset?"  resumed  Craig. 

"Mostly.    Not  all." 

"You  would  recognize  some  of  them  if  you  saw 
them?" 

"Yes  indeed.  Some  could  be  changed  only  by  re- 
cutting.  Even  some  of  those  that  were  set  were  of 
odd  cut  and  size — some  from  a  diamond  necklace 
which  belonged  to  a " 

There  was  something  peculiar  in  both  his  tone 
and  manner  as  he  cut  short  the  words. 

"To  whom?"  asked  Kennedy  casually. 

"Oh,  once  to  a  well-known  woman  in  society,"  he 
said  carefully.  "It  is  mine,  though,  now — at  least 
it  was  mine.  I  should  prefer  to  mention  no  names. 
I  will  give  a  description  of  the  stones." 

"Mrs.  Lynn  Moulton,  for  instance?"  suggested 
Craig  quietly. 


THE  DEAD  LINE  171 

Schloss  jumped  almost  as  if  a  burglar  alarm  had 
sounded  under  his  very  ears.  "How  did  you  know? 
Yes — but  it  was  a  secret.  I  made  a  large  loan  on 
it,  and  the  time  has  expired." 

"Why  did  she  need  money  so  badly?"  asked 
Kennedy. 

"How  should  I  know?"  demanded  Schloss. 

Here  was  a  deepening  mystery,  not  to  be  eluci- 
dated by  continuing  this  line  of  inquiry  with  Schloss, 
it  seemed. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

THE    PASTE   REPLICA 

Carefully  Craig  was  going  over  the  office.  Out- 
side of  the  safe,  there  had  apparently  been  nothing 
of  value.  The  rest  of  the  office  was  not  even  wired, 
and  it  seemed  to  have  been  Schloss'  idea  that  the 
few  thousands  of  burglary  insurance  amply  pro- 
tected him  against  such  loss.  As  for  the  safe,  its 
own  strength  and  the  careful  wiring  might  well  have 
been  considered  quite  sufficient  under  any  hitherto 
to-be-foreseen  circumstances. 

A  glass  door,  around  the  bend  of  a  partition, 
opened  from  the  hallway  into  the  office  and  had 
apparently  been  designed  with  the  object  of  mak- 
ing visible  the  safe  so  that  anyone  passing  might 
see  whether  an  intruder  was  tampering  with  it. 

Kennedy  had  examined  the  door,  perhaps  in  the 
expectation  of  finding  finger  prints  there,  and  was 
passing  on  to  other  things,  when  a  change  in  his 
position  caused  his  eye  to  catch  a  large  oval  smudge 
on  the  glass,  which  was  visible  when  the  light  struck 
it  at  the  right  angle.  Quickly  he  dusted  it  over  with 
the  powder,  and  brought  out  the  detail  more  clearly. 
As  I  examined  it,  while  Craig  made  preparations 
to  cut  out  the  glass  to  preserve  it,  it  seemed  to  con- 
tain a  number  of  minute  points  and  several  more 
or  less  broken  parallel  lines.  The  edges  gradually 
trailed  off  into  an  indistinct  faintness. 

172 


THE  PASTE  REPLICA  173 

Business,  naturally,  was  at  a  standstill,  and  as  we 
were  working  near  the  door,  we  could  see  that  the 
news  of  Schloss'  strange  robbery  had  leaked  out  and 
was  spreading  rapidly.  Scores  of  acquaintances  in 
the  trade  stopped  at  the  door  to  inquire  about  the 
rumor. 

To  each,  it  seemed  that  Morris  Muller,  the  work- 
ing jeweler  employed  by  Schloss,  repeated  the  same 
story. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "it  is  a  big  loss — yes — but  big  as 
it  is,  it  will  not  break  Mr.  Schloss.  And,"  he  would 
add  with  the  tradesman's  idea  of  humor,  "I  guess 
He  has  enough  to  play  a  game  of  poker — eh?" 

"Poker?"  asked  Kennedy  smiling.  "Is  he  much 
of  a  player?" 

"Yes.  Nearly  every  night  with  his  friends  he 
plays." 

Kennedy  made  a  mental  note  of  it.  Evidently 
Schloss  trusted  Muller  implicitly.  He  seemed  like  a 
partner,  rather  than  an  employee,  even  though  he 
had  not  been  entrusted  with  the  secret  combina- 
tion. 

Outside,  we  ran  into  city  detective  Lieutenant 
Winters,  the  officer  who  was  stationed  at  the  Maiden 
Lane  post,  guarding  that  famous  section  of  the  Dead 
Line  established  by  the  immortal  Byrnes  at  Fulton 
Street,  below  which  no  crook  was  supposed  to  dare 
even  to  be  seen.  Winters  had  been  detailed  on  the 
case. 

"You  have  seen  the  safe  in  there?"  asked  Ken- 
nedy, as  he  was  leaving  to  carry  on  his  investigation 
elsewhere. 

Winters  seemed  to  be  quite  as  skeptical  as  Schloss 
had  intimated  the  public  would  be.  "Yes,"  he  re- 
plied, "there's  been  an  epidemic  of  robbery  with  the 


174  THE  WAR  TERROR 

dull  times — people  who  want  to  collect  their  bur- 
glary insurance,  I  guess." 

"But,"  objected  Kennedy,  "Schloss  carried  so 
little." 

"Well,  there  was  the  Hale  Protection.  How 
about  that?" 

Craig  looked  up  quickly,  unruffled  by  the  patroniz- 
ing air  of  the  professional  toward  the  amateur  de- 
tective. 

"What  is  your  theory?"  he  asked.  "Do  you 
think  he  robbed  himself?" 

Winters  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I've  been  in- 
terested in  Schloss  for  some  time,"  he  said  enigmat- 
ically. "He  has  had  some  pretty  swell  customers. 
I'll  keep  you  wised  up,  if  anything  happens,"  he 
added  in  a  burst  of  graciousness,  walking  off. 

On  the  way  to  the  subway,  we  paused  again  to  see 
McLear. 

"Well,"  he  asked,  "what  do  you  think  of  it, 
now?" 

"All  most  extraordinary,"  ruminated  Craig. 
"And  the  queerest  feature  of  all  is  that  the  chief 
loss  consists  of  a  diamond  necklace  that  belonged 
once  to  Mrs.  Antoinette  Moulton." 

"Mrs.  Lynn  Moulton?"  repeated  McLear. 

"The  same,"  assured  Kennedy. 

McLear  appeared  somewhat  puzzled.  "Her  hus- 
band is  one  of  our  old  subscribers,"  he  pursued. 
"He  is  a  lawyer  on  Wall  Street  and  quite  a  gem 
collector.  Last  night  his  safe  was  tampered  with, 
but  this  morning  he  reports  no  loss.  Not  half  an 
hour  ago  he  had  us  on  the  wire  congratulating  us 
on  scaring  off  the  burglars,  if  there  had  been  any." 

"What  is  your  opinion,"  I  asked.  "Is  there  a 
gang  operating?" 


THE  PASTE  REPLICA  175 

"My  belief  is,"  he  answered,  reminiscently  of  his 
days  on  the  detective  force,  "that  none  of  the  loot 
will  be  recovered  until  they  start  to  'fence'  it.  That 
would  be  my  lay — to  look  for  the  fence.  Why,  think 
of  all  the  big  robberies  that  have  been  pulled  off 
lately.  Remember,"  he  went  on,  "the  spoils  of  a 
burglary  consist  generally  of  precious  stones.  They 
are  not  currency.  They  must  be  turned  into  cur- 
rency— or  what's  the  use  of  robbery? 

"But  merely  to  offer  them  for  sale  at  an  ordinary 
jeweler's  would  be  suspicious.  Even  pawnbrokers 
are  on  the  watch.  You  see  what  I  am  driving  at? 
I  think  there  is  a  man  or  a  group  of  men  whose 
business  it  is  to  pay  cash  for  stolen  property  and 
who  have  ways  of  returning  gems  into  the  regular 
trade  channels.  In  all  these  robberies  we  get  a 
glimpse  of  as  dark  and  mysterious  a  criminal  as  has 
ever  been  recorded.  He  may  be — anybody.  About 
his  legitimacy,  I  believe,  no  question  has  ever  been 
raised.  And,  I  tell  you,  his  arrest  is  going  to  create 
a  greater  sensation  than  even  the  remarkable  series 
of  robberies  that  he  has  planned  or  made  possible. 
The  question  is,  to  my  mind,  who  is  this  fence?" 

McLear's  telephone  rang  and  he  handed  the  in- 
strument to  Craig. 

"Yes,  this  is  Professor  Kennedy,"  answered 
Craig.  "Oh,  too  bad  you've  had  to  try  all  over 
to  get  me.  I've  been  going  from  one  place  to  an- 
other gathering  clues  and  have  made  good  progress, 
considering  I've  hardly  started.  Why — what's  the 
matter?    Really?" 

An  interval  followed,  during  which  McLear  left 
to  answer  a  personal  call  on  another  wire. 

As  Kennedy  hung  up  the  receiver,  his  face  wore 
a  peculiar  look.    "It  was  Mrs.  Moulton,"  he  blurted 


176  THE  WAR  TERROR 

out.  "She  thinks  that  her  husband  has  found  out 
that  the  necklace  is  paste." 

"How?"  I  asked. 

"The  paste  replica  is  gone  from  her  wall  safe  in 
the  Deluxe." 

I  turned,  startled  at  the  information.  Even  Ken- 
nedy himself  was  perplexed  at  the  sudden  succession 
of  events.     I  had  nothing  to  say. 

Evidently,  however,  his  rule  was  when  in  doubt 
play  a  trump,  for,  twenty  minutes  later  found  us  in 
the  office  of  Lynn  Moulton,  the  famous  corporation 
lawyer,  in  Wall  Street. 

Moulton  was  a  handsome  man  of  past  fifty  with 
a  youthful  face  against  his  iron  gray  hair  and  mus- 
tache, well  dressed,  genial,  a  man  who  seemed  keenly 
in  love  with  the  good  things  of  life. 

"It  is  rumored,"  began  Kennedy,  "that  an  at- 
tempt was  made  on  your  safe  here  at  the  office  last 
night." 

"Yes,"  he  admitted,  taking  off  his  glasses  and 
polishing  them  carefully.  "I  suppose  there  is  no 
need  of  concealment,  especially  as  I  hear  that  a 
somewhat  similar  attempt  was  made  on  the  safe  of 
my  friend  Herman  Schloss  in  Maiden  Lane." 

"You  lost  nothing?" 

Moulton  put  his  glasses  on  and  looked  Kennedy 
in  the  face  frankly. 

"Nothing,  fortunately,"  he  said,  then  went  on 
slowly.  "You  see,  in  my  later  years,  I  have  been 
something  of  a  collector  of  precious  stones  myself. 
I  don't  wear  them,  but  I  have  always  taken  the 
keenest  pleasure  in  owning  them  and  when  I  was 
married  it  gave  me  a  great  deal  more  pleasure  to 
have  them  set  in  rings,  pendants,  tiaras,  necklaces, 
and  other  forms  for  my  wife." 


THE  PASTE  REPLICA  177 

He  had  risen,  with  the  air  of  a  busy  man  who 
had  given  the  subject  all  the  consideration  he  could 
afford  and  whose  work  proceeded  almost  by  sched- 
ule. "This  morning  I  found  my  safe  tampered  with, 
but,  as  I  said,  fortunately  something  must  have 
scared  off  the  burglars." 

He  bowed  us  out  politely.  What  was  the  explana- 
tion, I  wondered.  It  seemed,  on  the  face  of  things, 
that  Antoinette  Moulton  feared  her  husband.  Did 
he  know  something  else  already,  and  did  she  know 
he  knew  ?  To  all  appearances  he  took  it  very  calmly, 
if  he  did  know.  Perhaps  that  was  what  she  feared, 
his  very  calmness. 

"I  must  see  Mrs.  Moulton  again,"  remarked  Ken- 
nedy, as  we  left. 

The  Moultons  lived,  we  found,  in  one  of  the 
largest  suites  of  a  new  apartment  hotel,  the  Deluxe, 
and  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  our  arrival  had  been 
announced  some  minutes  before  we  saw  Mrs.  Moul- 
ton, it  was  evident  that  she  had  been  crying  hyster- 
ically over  the  loss  of  the  paste  jewels  and  what  it 
implied. 

"I  missed  it  this  morning,  after  my  return  from 
seeing  you,"  she  replied  in  answer  to  Craig's  in- 
quiry, then  added,  wide-eyed  with  alarm,  "What 
shall  I  do?  He  must  have  opened  the  wall  safe 
and  found  the  replica.  I  don't  dare  ask  him  point- 
blank." 

"Are  you  sure  he  did  it?"  asked  Kennedy,  more, 
I  felt,  for  its  moral  effect  on  her  than  through  any 
doubt  in  his  own  mind. 

"Not  sure.  But  then  the  wall  safe  shows  no 
marks,  and  the  replica  is  gone." 

"Might  I  see  your  jewel  case?"  he  asked. 

"Surely.     I'll  get  it.     The  wall  safe  is  in  Lynn's 


178  THE  WAR  TERROR 

room.  I  shall  probably  have  to  fuss  a  long  time 
with  the  combination." 

In  fact  she  could  not  have  been  very  familiar 
with  it  for  it  took  several  minutes  before  she  re- 
turned. Meanwhile,  Kennedy,  who  had  been  drum- 
ming absently  on  the  arms  of  his  chair,  suddenly 
rose  and  walked  quietly  over  to  a  scrap  basket  that 
stood  beside  an  escritoire.  It  had  evidently  just  been 
emptied,  for  the  rooms  must  have  been  cleaned 
several  hours  before.  He  bent  down  over  it  and 
picked  up  two  scraps  of  paper  adhering  to  the  wicker 
work.     The  rest  had  evidently  been  thrown  away. 

I  bent  over  to  read  them.    One  was: 

— rest  Nettie — 
— dying  to  see — 

The  other  read: 

— cherche  to-d 
— love  and  ma 
— rman. 

What  did  it  mean?  Hastily,  I  could  fill  in 
"Dearest  Nettie,"  and  "I  am  dying  to  see  you." 
Kennedy  added,  "The  Recherche  to-day,"  that  being 
the  name  of  a  new  apartment  uptown,  as  well  as 
"love  and  many  kisses."  But  " — rman" — what  did 
that  mean?  Could  it  be  Herman — Herman  Schloss? 

She  was  returning  and  we  resumed  our  seats 
quickly. 

Kennedy  took  the  jewel  case  from  her  and  ex- 
amined it  carefully.     There  was  not  a  mark  on  it. 

"Mrs.  Moulton,"  he  said  slowly,  rising  and  hand- 
ing it  back  to  her,  "have  you  told  me  all?" 


THE  PASTE  REPLICA  179 

"Why — yes,"  she  answered. 

Kennedy  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"I'm  afraid  not.     You  must  tell  me  everything." 

"No — no,"  she  cried  vehemently,  "there  is  noth- 
ing more." 

We  left  and  outside  the  Deluxe  he  paused,  looked 
about,  caught  sight  of  a  taxicab  and  hailed  it. 

"Where?"  asked  the  driver. 

"Across  the  street,"  he  said,  "  and  wait.  Put  the 
window  in  back  of  you  down  so  I  can  talk.  I'll  tell 
you  where  to  go  presently.  Now,  Walter,  sit  back 
as  far  as  you  can.  This  may  seem  like  an  underhand 
thing  to  do,  but  we've  got  to  get  what  that  woman 
won't  tell  us  or  give  up  the  case." 

Perhaps  half  an  hour  we  waited,  still  puzzling 
over  the  scraps  of  paper.  Suddenly  I  felt  a  nudge 
from  Kennedy.  Antoinette  Moulton  was  standing 
in  the  doorway  across  the  street.  Evidently  she 
preferred  not  to  ride  in  her  own  car,  for  a  moment 
later  she  entered  a  taxicab. 

"Follow  that  black  cab,"  said  Kennedy  to  our 
driver. 

Sure  enough,  it  stopped  in  front  of  the  Recherche 
Apartments  and  Mrs.  Moulton  stepped  out  and 
almost  ran  in. 

We  waited  a  moment,  then  Kennedy  followed. 
The  elevator  that  had  taken  her  up  had  just  returned 
to  the  ground  floor. 

"The  same  floor  again,"  remarked  Kennedy, 
jauntily  stepping  in  and  nodding  familiarly  to  the 
elevator  boy. 

Then  he  paused  suddenly,  looked  at  his  watch, 
fixed  his  gaze  thoughtfully  on  me  an  instant,  and 
exclaimed.     "By  George — no.     I  can't  go  up  yet. 


180  THE  WAR  TERROR 

I  clean  forgot  that  engagement  at  the  hotel.  One 
moment,  son.     Let  us  out.     We'll  be  back  again." 

Considerably  mystified,  I  followed  him  to  the 
sidewalk. 

"You're  entitled  to  an  explanation,"  he  laughed 
catching  my  bewildered  look  as  he  opened  the  cab 
door.  "I  didn't  want  to  go  up  now  while  she  is 
there,  but  I  wanted  to  get  on  good  terms  with  that 
boy.    We'll  wait  until  she  comes  down,  then  go  up." 

"Where?"  I  asked. 

"That's  what  I  am  going  through  all  this  elab- 
orate preparation  to  find  out.  I  have  no  more  idea 
than  you  have." 

It  could  not  have  been  more  than  twenty  min- 
utes later  when  Mrs.  Moulton  emerged  rather  hur- 
riedly, and  drove  away. 

While  we  had  been  waiting  I  had  observed  a  man 
on  the  other  side  of  the  street  who  seemed  unduly 
interested  in  the  Recherche,  too,  for  he  had  walked 
up  and  down  the  block  no  less  than  six  times.  Ken- 
nedy saw  him,  and  as  he  made  no  effort  to  follow 
Mrs  M.oulton,  Kennedy  did  not  do  so  either.  In 
fact  a  little  quick  glance  which  she  had  given  at  our 
cab  had  raised  a  fear  that  she  might  have  discovered 
that  she  was  being  followed. 

Kennedy  and  I  paid  off  our  cabman  and  saun- 
tered into  the  Recherche  in  the  most  debonair  man- 
ner we  could  assume. 

"Now,  son,  we'll  go  up,"  he  said  to  the  boy  who, 
remembering  us,  and  now  not  at  all  clear  in  his  mind 
that  he  might  not  have  seen  us  before  that,  whisked 
us  to  the  tenth  floor. 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Kennedy,  "it's  number  one 
hundred  and — er " 

"Three,"  prompted  the  boy. 


THE  PASTE  REPLICA  181 

He  pressed  the  buzzer  and  a  neatly  dressed  col- 
ored maid  responded. 

UI  had  an  appointment  here  with  Mrs.  Moulton 
this  morning,"  remarked  Kennedy. 

"She  has  just  gone,"  replied  the  maid,  off  her 
guard. 

"And  was  to  meet  Mr.  Schloss  here  in  half  an 
hour,"  he  added  quickly. 

It  was  the  maid's  turn  to  look  surprised. 

"I  didn't  think  he  was  to  be  here,"  she  said. 
"He's  had  some " 

"Trouble  at  the  office,"  supplied  Kennedy. 
"That's  what  it  was  about.  Perhaps  he  hasn't  been 
able  to  get  away  yet.  But  I  had  the  appointment 
Ah,  I  see  a  telephone  in  the  hall.    May  I?" 

He  had  stepped  politely  in,  and  by  dint  of  clev- 
erly keeping  his  finger  on  the  hook  in  the  half  light, 
he  carried  on  a  one-sided  conversation  with  him- 
self long  enough  to  get  a  good  chance  to  look 
about. 

There  was  an  air  of  quiet  and  refinement  about 
the  apartment  in  the  Recherche.  It  was  darkened 
to  give  the  little  glowing  electric  bulbs  in  their  silken 
shades  a  full  chance  to  simulate  night.  The  deep 
velvety  carpets  were  noiseless  to  the  foot,  and  the 
draperies,  the  pictures,  the  bronzes,  all  bespoke 
taste. 

But  the  chief  objects  of  interest  to  Craig  were 
the  little  square  green  baize-covered  tables  on  one 
of  which  lay  neatly  stacked  a  pile  of  gilt-edged 
cards  and  a  mahogany  box  full  of  ivory  chips  of  red, 
white  and  blue. 

It  was  none  of  the  old-time  gambling  places,  like 
Danfield's,  with  its  steel  door  which  Craig  had  once 


1 82  THE  WAR  TERROR 

cut  through  with  an  oxyacetylene  blowpipe  in  order 
to  rescue  a  young  spendthrift  from  himself. 

Kennedy  seemed  perfectly  well  satisfied  merely 
with  a  cursory  view  of  the  place,  as  he  hung  up 
the  receiver  and  thanked  the  maid  politely  for  allow- 
ing him  to  use  it. 

"This  is  up-to-date  gambling  in  cleaned-up  New 
York,"  he  remarked  as  we  waited  for  the  elevator 
to  return  for  us.  "And  the  worst  of  it  all  is  that  it 
gets  the  women  as  well  as  the  men.  Once  they 
are  caught  in  the  net,  they  are  the  most  powerful 
lure  to  men  that  the  gamblers  have  yet  devised." 

We  rode  down  in  silence,  and  as  we  went  down 
the  steps  to  the  street,  I  noticed  the  man  whom 
we  had  seen  watching  the  place,  lurking  down  at  the 
lower  corner.  Kennedy  quickened  his  pace  and  came 
up  behind  him. 

"Why,  Winters !"  exclaimed  Craig.    "You  here  ?" 

"I  might  say  the  same  to  you,"  grinned  the  detec- 
tive not  displeased  evidently  that  our  trail  had 
crossed  his.  "I  suppose  you  are  looking  for  Schloss, 
too.  He's  up  in  the  Recherche  a  great  deal,  play- 
ing poker.  I  understand  he  owns  an  interest  in  the 
game  up  there." 

Kennedy  nodded,  but  said  nothing. 

"I  just  saw  one  of  the  cappers  for  the  place  go 
out  before  you  went  in." 

"Capper?"  repeated  Kennedy  surprised.  "An- 
toinette Moulton  a  steerer  for  a  gambling  joint? 
What  can  a  rich  society  woman  have  to  do  with  a 
place  like  that  or  a  man  like  Schloss?" 

Winters  smiled  sardonically.  "Society  ladies  to- 
day often  get  into  scrapes  of  which  their  husbands 
know  nothing,"  he  remarked.  "You  didn't  know 
before  that  Antoinette  Moulton,  like  many  of  her 


THE  PASTE  REPLICA  183 

friends  in  the  smart  set,  was  a  gambler — and  loser 
—did  you?" 

Craig  shook  his  head.  He  had  more  of  human 
than  scientific  interest  in  a  case  of  a  woman  of  her 
caliber  gone  wrong. 

"But  you  must  have  read  of  the  famous  Moulton 
diamonds?" 

"Yes,"  said  Craig,  blankly,  as  if  it  were  all  news 
to  him. 

"Schloss  has  them — or  at  least  had  them.  The 
jewels  she  wore  at  the  opera  this  winter  were  paste, 
I  understand." 

"Does  Moulton  play?"  he  asked. 

"I  think  so — but  not  here,  naturally.  In  a  way, 
I  suppose,  it  is  his  fault.  They  all  do  it.  The 
example  of  one  drives  on  another." 

Instantly  there  flashed  over  my  mind  a  host  of 
possibilities.  Perhaps,  after  all,  Winters  had  been 
right.  Schloss  had  taken  this  way  to  make  sure  of 
the  jewels  so  that  she  could  not  redeem  them.  Sud- 
denly another  explanation  crowded  that  out.  Had 
Mrs.  Moulton  robbed  the  safe  herself,  or  hired 
some  one  else  to  do  it  for  her,  and  had  that  person 
gone  back  on  her? 

Then  a  horrid  possibility  occurred  to  me.  What- 
ever Antoinette  Moulton  may  have  been  and  done, 
some  one  must  have  her  in  his  power.  What  a 
situation  for  the  woman!  My  sympathy  went  out 
to  her  in  her  supreme  struggle.  Even  if  it  had  been 
a  real  robbery,  Schloss  might  easily  recover  from  it. 
But  for  her  every  event  spelled  ruin  and  seemed 
only  to  be  bringing  that  ruin  closer. 

We  left  Winters,  still  watching  on  the  trail  of 
Schloss,  and  went  on  uptown  to  the  laboratory. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE   BURGLAR'S   MICROPHONE 

That  night  I  was  sitting,  brooding  over  the  case, 
while  Craig  was  studying  a  photograph  which  he 
made  of  the  smudge  on  the  glass  door  down  at 
Schloss'.  He  paused  in  his  scrutiny  of  the  print  to 
answer  the  telephone. 

"Something  has  happened  to  Schloss,"  he  ex- 
claimed seizing  his  hat  and  coat.  "Winters  has  been 
watching  him.  He  didn't  go  to  the  Recherche. 
Winters  wants  me  to  meet  him  at  a  place  several 
blocks  below  it.  Come  on.  He  wouldn't  say  over 
the  wire  what  it  was.     Hurry." 

We  met  Winters  in  less  than  ten  minutes  at  the 
address  he  had  given,  a  bachelor  apartment  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Recherche. 

"Schloss  kept  rooms  here,"  explained  Winters, 
hurrying  us  quickly  upstairs.  "I  wanted  you  to  see 
before  anyone  else." 

As  we  entered  the  large  and  luxuriously  furnished 
living  room  of  the  jeweler's  suite,  a  gruesome  sight 
greeted  us. 

There  lay  Schloss  on  the  floor,  face  down,  in  a 
horribly  contorted  position.  In  one  hand,  clenched 
under  him  partly,  the  torn  sleeve  of  a  woman's 
dress  was  grasped  convulsively.  The  room  bore  un- 
mistakable traces  of  a  violent  struggle,  but  except 
for  the  hideous  object  on  the  floor  was  vacant. 

184 


THE  BURGLAR'S  MICROPHONE    185 

Kennedy  bent  down  over  him.    Schloss  was  dead. 

In  a  corner,  by  the  door,  stood  a  pile  of  grips, 
stacked  up,  packed,  and  undisturbed. 

Winters  who  had  been  studying  the  room  while 
we  got  our  bearings  picked  up  a  queer-looking  revol- 
ver from  the  floor.  As  he  held  it  up  I  could  see  that 
along  the  top  of  the  barrel  was  a  long  cylinder  with 
a  ratchet  or  catch  at  the  butt  end.  He  turned  it  over 
and  over  carefully. 

"By  George,"  he  muttered,  "it  has  been  fired 
off." 

Kennedy  glanced  more  minutely  at  the  body. 
There  was  not  a  mark  on  it.  I  stared  about  va- 
cantly at  the  place  where  Winters  had  picked  the 
thing  up. 

"Look,"  I  cried,  my  eye  catching  a  little  hole  in 
the  baseboard  of  the  woodwork  near  it. 

"It  must  have  fallen  and  exploded  on  the  floor," 
remarked  Kennedy.    "Let  me  see  it,  Winters." 

Craig  held  it  at  arm's  length  and  pulled  the  catch. 
Instead  of  an  explosion,  there  came  a  cone  of  light 
from  the  top  of  the  gun.  As  Kennedy  moved  it 
over  the  wall,  I  saw  in  the  center  of  the  circle  of 
light  a  dark  spot. 

"A  new  invention,"  Craig  explained.  "All  you 
need  to  do  is  to  move  it  so  that  little  dark  spot  falls 
directly  on  an  object.  Pull  the  trigger — the  bullet 
strikes  the  dark  spot.  Even  a  nervous  and  unskilled 
marksman  becomes  a  good  shot  in  the  dark.  He 
can  even  shoot  from  behind  the  protection  of  some- 
thing— and  hit  accurately." 

It  was  too  much  for  me.     I  could  only  stand  and 
watch  Kennedy  as  he  deftly  bent  over  Schloss  again 
and  placed  a  piece  of  chemically  prepared  paper  flat 
on  the  forehead  of  the  dead  man. 
13 


1 86  THE  WAR  TERROR 

When  he  withdrew  it,  I  could  see  that  it  bore 
marks  of  the  lines  on  his  head.  Without  a  word, 
Kennedy  drew  from  his  pocket  a  print  of  the  photo- 
graph of  the  smudge  on  Schloss'  door. 

"It  is  possible,"  he  said,  half  to  himself,  "to  iden- 
tify a  person  by  means  of  the  arrangement  of  the 
sweat  glands  or  pores.  Poroscopy,  Dr.  Edmond 
Locard,  director  of  the  Police  Laboratory  at  Lyons, 
calls  it.  The  shape,  arrangement,  number  per  square 
centimeter,  all  vary  in  different  individuals.  Be- 
sides, here  we  have  added  the  lines  of  the  fore- 
head." 

He  was  studying  the  two  impressions  intensely. 
When  he  looked  up  from  his  examination,  his  face 
wore  a  peculiar  expression. 

"This  is  not  the  head  which  was  placed  so  close 
to  the  glass  of  the  door  of  Schloss'  office,  peering 
through,  on  the  night  of  the  robbery,  in  order  to 
see  before  picking  the  lock  whether  the  office  was 
empty  and  everything  ready  for  the  hasty  attack 
on  the  safe." 

"That  disposes  of  my  theory  that  Schloss  robbed 
himself,"  remarked  Winters  reluctantly.  "But  the 
struggle  here,  the  sleeve  of  the  dress,  the  pistol — 
could  he  have  been  shot?" 

"No,  I  think  not,"  considered  Kennedy.  "It 
looks  to  me  more  like  a  case  of  apoplexy." 

"What  shall  we  do?"  asked  Winters.  "Far  from 
clearing  anything  up,  this  complicates  it." 

"Where's  Muller?"  asked  Kennedy.  "Does  he 
know?    Perhaps  he  can  shed  some  light  on  it." 

The  clang  of  an  ambulance  bell  outside  told  that 
the  aid  summoned  by  Winters  had  arrived. 

We  left  the  body  in  charge  of  the  surgeon  and 


THE  BURGLAR'S  MICROPHONE     187 

of  a  policeman  who  arrived  about  the  same  time, 
and  followed  Winters. 

Muller  lived  in  a  cheap  boarding  house  in  a  shab- 
bily respectable  street  downtown,  and  without  an- 
nouncing ourselves  we  climbed  the  stairs  to  his 
room.  He  looked  up  surprised  but  not  disconcerted 
as  we  entered. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

"Muller,"  shot  out  Winters,  "we  have  just  found 
Mr.  Schloss  dead!" 

"D-dead!"  he  stammered. 

The  man  seemed  speechless  with  horror. 

"Yes,  and  with  his  grips  packed  as  if  to  run 
away." 

Muller  looked  dazedly  from  one  of  us  to  the 
other,  but  shut  up  like  a  clam. 

"I  think  you  had  better  come  along  with  us  as  a 
material  witness,"  burst  out  Winters  roughly. 

Kennedy  said  nothing,  leaving  that  sort  of  third 
degree  work  to  the  detective.  But  he  was  not  idle, 
as  Winters  tried  to  extract  more  than  the  mono- 
syllables, "I  don't  know,"  in  answer  to  every  inquiry 
of  Muller  about  his  employer's  life  and  business. 

A  low  exclamation  from  Craig  attracted  my  at- 
tention from  Winters.  In  a  corner  he  had  discov- 
ered a  small  box  and  had  opened  it.  Inside  was  a 
dry  battery  and  a  most  peculiar  instrument,  some- 
thing like  a  little  flat  telephone  transmitter  yet  at- 
tached by  wires  to  earpieces  that  fitted  over  the  head 
after  the  manner  of  those  of  a  wireless  detector. 

"What's  this?"  asked  Kennedy,  dangling  it  before 
Muller. 

He  looked  at  it  phlegmatically.  "A  deaf  instru- 
ment I  have  been  working  on,"  replied  the  jeweler. 
"My  hearing  is  getting  poor." 


1 88  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Kennedy  looked  hastily  from  the  instrument  to 
the  man. 

"I  think  I'll  take  it  along  with  us,"  he  said 
quietly. 

Winters,  true  to  his  instincts,  had  been  search- 
ing Muller  in  the  meantime.  Besides  the  various 
assortment  that  a  man  carries  in  his  pockets  usually, 
including  pens,  pencils,  notebooks,  a  watch,  a  hand- 
kerchief, a  bunch  of  keys,  one  of  which  was  large 
enough  to  open  a  castle,  there  was  a  bunch  of  blank 
and  unissued  pawntickets  bearing  the  name,  "Stein's 
One  Per  Cent,  a  Month  Loans,"  and  an  address  on 
the  Bowery. 

Was  Muller  the  "fence"  we  were  seeking,  or 
only  a  tool  for  the  "fence"  higher  up?  Who  was 
this  Stein? 

What  it  all  meant  I  could  only  guess.  It  was  a 
far  cry  from  the  wealth  of  Diamond  Lane  to  a 
dingy  Bowery  pawnshop,  even  though  pawnbroking 
at  one  per  cent,  a  month — and  more,  on  the  side — 
pays.  I  knew,  too,  that  diamonds  are  hoarded  on 
the  East  Side  as  nowhere  else  in  the  world,  outside 
of  India.  It  was  no  uncommon  thing,  I  had  heard, 
for  a  pawnbroker  whose  shop  seemed  dirty  and 
greasy  to  the  casual  visitor  to  have  stored  away  in 
his  vault  gems  running  into  the  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  dollars. 

"Mrs.  Moulton  must  know  of  this,"  remarked 
Kennedy.  "Winters,  you  and  Jameson  bring  Mul- 
ler along.     I  am  going  up  to  the  Deluxe." 

I  must  say  that  I  was  surprised  at  finding  Mrs. 
Moulton  there.  Outside  the  suite  Winters  and  I 
waited  with  the  unresisting  Muller,  while  Kennedy 
entered.  But  through  the  door  which  he  left  ajar  I 
could  hear  what  passed. 


THE  BURGLAR'S  MICROPHONE     189 

"Mrs.  Moulton,"  he  began,  "something  terrible 
has  happened " 

He  broke  off,  and  I  gathered  that  her  pale  face 
and  agitated  manner  told  him  that  she  knew 
already. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Moulton?"  he  went  on,  changing 
his  question. 

"Mr.  Moulton  is  at  his  office,"  she  answered 
tremulously.  "He  telephoned  while  I  was  out  that 
he  had  to  work  to-night.  Oh,  Mr.  Kennedy — he 
knows — he  knows.  I  know  it.  He  has  avoided  me 
ever  since  I  missed  the  replica  from " 

"Sh!"  cautioned  Craig.  He  had  risen  and  gone 
^o  the  door. 

"Winters,"  he  whispered,  "I  want  you  to  go  down 
to  Lynn  Moulton's  office.  Meanwhile  Jameson  can 
take  care  of  Muller.  I  am  going  over  to  that  place 
of  Stein's  presently.  Bring  Moulton  up  there.  You 
will  wait  here,  Walter,  for  the  present,"  he  nodded. 

He  returned  to  the  room  where  I  could  hear  her 
crying  softly. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Moulton,"  he  said  gently,  "I'm 
afraid  I  must  trouble  you  to  go  with  me.  I  am 
going  over  to  a  pawnbroker's  on  the  Bowery." 

"The  Bowery?"  she  repeated,  with  a  genuinely 
surprised  shudder.  "Oh,  no,  Mr.  Kennedy.  Don't 
ask  me  to  go  anywhere  to-night.  I  am — I  am  in  no 
condition  to  go  anywhere — to  do  anything — I " 

"But  you  must,"  said  Kennedy  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  can't.  Oh — have  mercy  on  me.  I  am  terribly 
upset.     You " 

"It  is  your  duty  to  go,  Mrs.  Moulton,"  he  re- 
peated. 

"I  don't  understand."  she  murmured.  "A  Dawn- 
broker's?" 


1 9o  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"Come,"  urged  Kennedy,  not  harshly  but  firmly, 
then,  as  she  held  back,  added,  playing  a  trump  card, 
"We  must  work  quickly.  In  his  hands  we  found 
the  fragments  of  a  torn  dress.  When  the 
police " 

She  uttered  a  shriek.  A  glance  had  told  her,  if 
she  had  deceived  herself  before,  that  Kennedy  knew 
her  secret. 

Antoinette  Moulton  was  standing  before  him, 
talking  rapidly. 

"Some  one  has  told  Lynn.  I  know  it.  There  is 
nothing  now  that  I  can  conceal.  If  you  had  come 
half  an  hour  later  you  would  not  have  found  me. 
He  had  written  to  Mr.  Schloss,  threatening  him 
that  if  he  did  not  leave  the  country  he  would  shoot 
him  at  sight.     Mr.  Schloss  showed  me  the  letter. 

"It  had  come  to  this.  I  must  either  elope  with 
Schloss,  or  lose  his  aid.  The  thought  of  either  was 
unendurable.  I  hated  him — yet  was  dependent  on 
him. 

"To-night  I  met  him,  in  his  empty  apartment, 
alone.  I  knew  that  he  had  what  was  left  of  his 
money  with  him,  that  everything  was  packed  up. 
I  went  prepared.  I  would  not  elope.  My  plan  was 
no  less  than  to  make  him  pay  the  balance  on  the 
necklace  that  he  had  lost — or  to  murder  him. 

"I  carried  a  new  pistol  in  my  muff,  one  which 
Lynn  had  just  bought.  I  don't  know  how  I  did  it. 
I  was  desperate. 

"He  told  me  he  loved  me,  that  Lynn  did  not, 
never  had — that  Lynn  had  married  me  only  to  show 
off  his  wealth  and  diamonds,  to  give  him  a  social 
position — that  I  was  merely  a — a  piece  of  property 
< — a  dummy. 


THE  BURGLAR'S  MICROPHONE    191 

"He  tried  to  kiss  me.  It  was  revolting.  I  strug- 
gled away  from  him. 

"And  in  the  struggle,  the  revolver  fell  from  my 
muff  and  exploded  on  the  floor. 

"At  once  he  was  aflame  with  suspicion. 

"  'So — it's  murder  you  want!'  he  shouted.  'Well, 
murder  it  shall  be!' 

"I  saw  death  in  his  eye  as  he  seized  my  arm.  I 
was  defenseless  now.  The  old  passion  came  over 
him.  Before  he  killed — he — would  have  his  way 
with  me. 

"I  screamed.  With  a  wild  effort  I  twisted  away 
from  him. 

"He  raised  his  hand  to  strike  me,  I  saw  his  eyes, 
glassy.  Then  he  sank  back — fell  to  the  floor — dead 
of  apoplexy — dead  of  his  furious  emotions. 

"I  fled. 

"And  now  you  have  found  me." 

She  had  turned,  hastily,  to  leave  the  room.  Ken- 
nedy blocked  the  door. 

"Mrs.  Moulton,"  he  said  firmly,  "listen  to  me. 
What  was  the  first  question  you  asked  me?  'Can  I 
trust  you?'  And  I  told  you  you  could.  This  is  no 
time  for — for  suicide."  He  shot  the  word  out 
bluntly.  "All  may  not  be  lost.  I  have  sent  for  your 
husband.    Muller  is  outside." 

"Muller?"  she  cried.    "He  made  the  replica." 

"Very  well.  I  am  going  to  clear  this  thing  up. 
Come.    You  must." 

It  was  all  confused  to  me,  the  dash  in  a  car  to 
the  little  pawnbroker's  on  the  first  floor  of  a  five- 
story  tenement,  the  quick  entry  into  the  place  by  one 
of  Muller's  keys. 

Over  the  safe  in  back  was  a  framework  like  that 
which  kad  covered  Schloss'  safe.     Kennedy  tore  it 


192  THE  WAR  TERROR 

away,  regardless  of  the  alarm  which  it  must  have 
sounded.  In  a  moment  he  was  down  before  it  on 
his  knees. 

"This  is  how  Schloss'  safe  was  opened  so  quickly," 
he  muttered,  working  feverishly.  "Here  is  some  of 
their  own  medicine." 

He  had  placed  the  peculiar  telephone-like  trans- 
mitter close  to  the  combination  lock  and  was  turn- 
ing the  combination  rapidly. 

Suddenly  he  rose,  gave  the  bolts  a  twist,  and  the 
ponderous  doors  swung  open. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked  eagerly. 

"A  burglar's  microphone,"  he  answered,  hastily 
looking  over  the  contents  of  the  safe.  "The  micro- 
phone is  now  used  by  burglars  for  picking  combina- 
tion locks.  When  you  turn  the  lock,  a  slight  sound 
is  made  when  the  proper  number  comes  opposite  the 
working  point.  It  can  be  heard  sometimes  by  a  sen- 
sitive ear,  although  it  is  imperceptible  to  most  per- 
sons. But  by  using  a  microphone  it  is  an  easy  mat- 
ter to  hear  the  sounds  which  allow  of  opening  the 
lock." 

He  had  taken  a  yellow  chamois  bag  out  of  the 
safe  and  opened  it. 

Inside  sparkled  the  famous  Moulton  diamonds. 
He  held  them  up — in  all  their  wicked  brilliancy. 
No  one  spoke. 

Then  he  took  another  yellow  bag,  more  dirty  and 
worn  than  the  first.  As  he  opened  it,  Mrs.  Moulton 
could  restrain  herself  no  longer. 

"The  replica!"  she. cried.     "The  replica  1" 

Without  a  word,  Craig  handed  the  real  necklace 
to  her.  Then  he  slipped  the  paste  jewels  into  the 
newer  of  the  bags  and  restored  both  it  and  the  empty 


THE  BURGLAR'S  MICROPHONE    193 

one  to  their  places,  banged  shut  the  door  of  the  safe, 
and  replaced  the  wooden  screen. 

"Quick  1"  he  said  to  her,  "you  have  still  a  minute 
to  get  away.  Hurry — anywhere — away — only 
away!" 

The  look  of  gratitude  that  came  over  her  face, 
as  she  understood  the  full  meaning  of  it  was  such 
as  I  had  never  seen  before. 

"Quick!"  he  repeated. 

It  was  too  late. 

"For  God's  sake,  Kennedy,"  shouted  a  voice  at 
the  street  door,  "what  are  you  doing  here?" 

It  was  McLear  himself.  He  had  come  with  the 
Hale  patrol,  on  his  mettle  now  to  take  care  of  the 
epidemic  of  robberies. 

Before  Craig  could  reply  a  cab  drew  up  with  a 
rush  at  the  curb  and  two  men,  half  fighting,  half 
cursing,  catapulted  themselves  into  the  shop. 

They  were  Winters  and  Moulton. 

Without  a  word,  taking  advantage  of  the  first 
shock  of  surprise,  Kennedy  had  clapped  a  piece  of 
chemical  paper  on  the  foreheads  of  Mrs.  Moulton, 
then  of  Moulton,  and  on  Muller's.  Oblivious  to  the 
rest  of  us,  he  studied  the  impressions  in  the  full 
light  of  the  counter. 

Moulton  was  facing  his  wife  with  a  scornful  curl 
of  the  lip. 

"I've  been  told  of  the  paste  replica — and  I  wrote 
Schloss  that  I'd  shoot  him  down  like  the  dog  he  is, 
you — you  traitress,"  he  hissed. 

She  drew  herself  up  scornfully. 

"And  I  have  been  told  why  you  married  me — 
to  show  off  your  wicked  jewels  and  help  you  in 
your >" 

"You  lie !"  he  cried  fiercely.    "Muller — some  one 


194  THE  WAR  TERROR 

— ope*  this  safe — whosever  it  is.  If  what  I  have 
been  told  is  true,  there  is  in  it  one  new  bag  contain- 
ing the  necklace.  It  was  stolen  from  Schloss  to 
whom  you  sold  my  jewels.  The  other  old  bag, 
stolen  from  me,  contains  the  paste  replica  you  had 
made  to  deceive  me." 

It  was  all  so  confused  that  I  do  not  know  how 
it  happened.  I  think  it  was  Muller  who  opened 
the  safe. 

"There  is  the  new  yellow  bag,"  cried  Moulton, 
"from  Schloss'  own  safe.     Open  it." 

McLear  had  taken  it.  He  did  so.  There  spar- 
kled not  the  real  gems,  but  the  replica. 

"The  devil!"  Moulton  exclaimed,  breaking  from 
Winters  and  seizing  the  old  bag. 

He  tore  it  open  and — it  was  empty. 

"One  moment,"  interrupted  Kennedy,  looking  up 
quietly  from  the  counter.  "Seal  that  safe  again, 
McLear.  In  it  are  the  Schloss  jewels  and  the  prod- 
ucts of  half  a  dozen  other  robberies  which  the  dupe 
Muller — or  Stein,  as  you  please — pulled  off,  some 
as  a  blind  to  conceal  the  real  criminal.  You  may 
have  shown  him  how  to  leave  no  finger  prints,  but 
you  yourself  have  left  what  is  just  as  good — your 
own  forehead  print.  McLear — you  were  right. 
There's  your  criminal — Lynn  Moulton,  professional 
fence,  the  brains  of  the  thing." 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE   GERM    LETTER 

Lynn  Moulton  made  no  fight  and  Kennedy  did 
not  pursue  the  case,  for,  with  the  rescue  of  An- 
toinette Moulton,  his  interest  ceased. 

Blackmail  takes  various  forms,  and  the  Moulton 
affair  was  only  one  phase  of  it.  It  was  not  long 
before  we  had  to  meet  a  much  stranger  attempt. 

"Read  the  letter,  Professor  Kennedy.  Then  I 
will  tell  you  the  sequel." 

Mrs.  Hunter  Blake  lay  back  in  the  cushions  of 
her  invalid  chair  in  the  sun  parlor  of  the  great 
Blake  mansion  on  Riverside  Drive,  facing  the  Hud- 
son with  its  continuous  reel  of  maritime  life  framed 
against  the  green-hilled  background  of  the  Jersey 
shore. 

Her  nurse,  Miss  Dora  Sears,  gently  smoothed  out 
the  pillows  and  adjusted  them  so  that  the  invalid 
could  more  easily  watch  us.  Mrs.  Blake,  wealthy, 
known  as  a  philanthropist,  was  not  an  old  woman, 
but  had  been  for  years  a  great  sufferer  from  rheu- 
matism. 

I  watched  Miss  Sears  eagerly.  Full-bosomed, 
fine  of  face  and  figure,  she  was  something  more 
than  a  nurse;  she  was  a  companion.  She  had  bright, 
sparkling  black  eyes  and  an  expression  about  her 
well-cut  mouth  which  made  one  want  to  laugh  with 
her.     It  seemed  to  say  that  the  world  was  a  huge 

195 


196  THE  WAR  TERROR 

joke  and  she  invited  you  to  enjoy  the  joke  with  her. 

Kennedy  took  the  letter  which  Miss  Sears  prof- 
fered him,  and  as  he  did  so  I  could  not  help  noticing 
her  full,  plump  forearm  on  which  gleamed  a  hand- 
some plain  gold  bracelet.  He  spread  the  letter  out 
on  a  dainty  wicker  table  in  such  a  way  that  we  both 
could  see  it. 

We  had  been  summoned  over  the  telephone  to  the 
Blake  mansion  by  Reginald  Blake,  Mrs.  Blake's 
eldest  son.  Reginald  had  been  very  reticent  over 
the  reason,  but  had  seemed  very  anxious  and  insist- 
ent that  Kennedy  should  come  immediately. 

Craig  read  quickly  and  I  followed  him,  fascinated 
by  the  letter  from  its  very  opening  paragraph. 

"Dear  Madam,"  it  began.  "Having  received  my 
diploma  as  doctor  of  medicine  and  bacteriology  at 
Heidelberg  in  1909,  I  came  to  the  United  States  to 
study  a  most  serious  disease  which  is  prevalent  in 
several  of  the  western  mountain  states." 

So  far,  I  reflected,  it  looked  like  an  ordinary 
appeal  for  aid.  The  next  words,  however,  were 
queer:  "I  have  four  hundred  persons  of  wealth,  on 
my  list.    Your  name  was " 

Kennedy  turned  the  page.  On  the  next  leaf  of 
the  letter  sheet  was  pasted  a  strip  of  gelatine.  The 
first  page  had  adhered  slightly  to  the  gelatine. 

"Chosen  by  fate,"  went  on  the  sentence  ominously. 

"By  opening  this  letter,"  I  read,  "you  have  lib- 
erated millions  of  the  virulent  bacteria  of  this  dis- 
ease. Without  a  doubt  you  are  infected  by  this 
time,  for  no  human  body  is  impervious  to  them, 
and  up  to  the  present  only  one  in  one  hundred  has 
fully  recovered  after  going  through  all  its  stages." 

I  gasped.  The  gelatine  had  evidently  been  ar- 
ranged so  that  when  the  two  sheets  were  pulled 


THE  GERM  LETTER  197 

apart,  the  germs  would  be  thrown  into  the  air  about 
the  person  opening  the  letter.  It  was  a  very  in- 
genious device. 

The  letter  continued,  "I  am  happy  to  say,  how- 
ever, that  I  have  a  prophylactic  which  will  destroy 
any  number  of  these  germs  if  used  up  to  the  ninth 
day.  It  is  necessary  only  that  you  should  place  five 
thousand  dollars  in  an  envelope  and  leave  it  for 
me  to  be  called  for  at  the  desk  of  the  Prince  Henry 
Hotel.  When  the  messenger  delivers  the  money  to 
me,  the  prophylactic  will  be  sent  immediately. 

"First  of  all,  take  a  match  and  burn  this  letter  to 
avoid  spreading  the  disease.  Then  change  your 
clothes  and  burn  the  old  ones.  Enclosed  you  will 
find  in  a  germ-proof  envelope  an  exact  copy  of  this 
letter.  The  room  should  then  be  thoroughly  fumi- 
gated. Do  not  come  into  close  contact  with  any- 
one near  and  dear  to  you  until  you  have  used  the 
prophylactic.  Tell  no  one.  In  case  you  do,  the 
prophylactic  will  not  be  sent  under  any  circum- 
stances.   Very  truly  yours,       Dr.  Hans  Hopf." 

"Blackmail!"  exclaimed  Kennedy,  looking  intently 
again  at  the  gelatine  on  the  second  page,  as  I  in- 
voluntarily backed  away  and  held  my  breath. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  responded  Mrs.  Blake  anxiously, 
"but  is  it  true?" 

There  could  be  no  doubt  from  the  tone  of  her 
voice  that  she  more  than  half  believed  that  it  was 
true. 

"I  cannot  say — yet,"  replied  Craig,  still  cautiously 
scanning  the  apparently  innocent  piece  of  gelatine 
on  the  original  letter  which  Mrs.  Blake  had  not  de- 
stroyed.    "I  shall  have  to  keep  it  and  examine  it." 

On  the  gelatine  I  could  see  a  dark  mass  which 
evidently  was  supposed  to  contain  the  germs. 


198  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"I  opened  the  letter  here  in  this  room,"  she  went 
on.  "At  first  I  thought  nothing  of  it.  But  this 
morning,  when  Buster,  my  prize  Pekinese,  who  had 
been  with  me,  sitting  on  my  lap  at  the  time  and 
closer  to  the  letter  even  than  I  was,  when  Buster 
was  taken  suddenly  ill,  I — well,  I  began  to  worry." 

She  finished  with  a  little  nervous  laugh,  as  peo- 
ple will  to  hide  their  real  feelings. 

"I  should  like  to  see  the  dog,"  remarked  Kennedy 
simply. 

"Miss  Sears,"  asked  her  mistress,  "will  you  get 
Buster,  please?" 

The  nurse  left  the  room.  No  longer  was  there 
the  laughing  look  on  her  face.  This  was  serious 
business. 

A  few  minutes  later  she  reappeared,  carrying 
gingerly  a  small  dog  basket.  Mrs.  Blake  lifted  the 
lid.  Inside  was  a  beautiful  little  "Peke,"  and  it  was 
easy  to  see  that  Buster  was  indeed  ill. 

"Who  is  your  doctor?"  asked  Craig,  considering. 

"Dr.  Rae  Wilson,  a  very  well-known  woman  phy- 
sician." 

Kennedy  nodded  recognition  of  the  name. 
"What  does  she  say?"  he  asked,  observing  the  dog 
narrowly. 

"We  haven't  told  anyone,  outside,  of  it  yet,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Blake.  "In  fact  until  Buster  fell  sick, 
I  thought  it  was  a  hoax." 

"You  haven't  told  anyone?" 

"Only  Reginald  and  my  daughter  Betty.  Betty 
is  frantic — not  with  fear  for  herself,  but  with  fear 
for  me.  No  one  can  reassure  her.  In  fact  it  was 
as  much  for  her  sake  as  anyone's  that  I  sent  for 
you.  Reginald  has  tried  to  trace  the  thing  down 
himself,  but  has  not  succeeded." 


THE  GERM  LETTER  199 

She  paused.  The  door  opened  and  Reginald 
Blake  entered.  He  was  a  young  fellow,  self  con- 
fident and  no  doubt  very  efficient  at  the  new  dances, 
though  scarcely  fitted  to  rub  elbows  with  a  cold 
world  which,  outside  of  his  own  immediate  circle, 
knew  not  the  name  of  Blake.  He  stood  for  a 
moment  regarding  us  through  the  smoke  of  his 
cigarette. 

"Tell  me  just  what  you  have  done,"  asked  Ken- 
nedy of  him  as  his  mother  introduced  him,  although 
he  had  done  the  talking  for  her  over  the  tele- 
phone. 

"Done?"  he  drawled.  "Why,  as  soon  as  mother 
told  me  of  the  letter,  I  left  an  envelope  up  at  the 
Prince  Henry,  as  it  directed." 

"With  the  money?"  put  in  Craig  quickly. 

"Oh,  no — just  as  a  decoy." 

"Yes.    What  happened?" 

"Well,  I  waited  around  a  long  time.  It  was  far 
along  in  the  day  when  a  woman  appeared  at  the 
desk.  I  had  instructed  the  clerk  to  be  on  the  watch 
for  anyone  who  asked  for  mail  addressed  to  a  Dr. 
Hopf .  The  clerk  slammed  the  register.  That  was 
the  signal.     I  moved  up  closer." 

"What  did  she  look  like?"  asked  Kennedy 
keenly. 

"I  couldn't  see  her  face.  But  she  was  beautifully 
dressed,  with  a  long  light  flowing  linen  duster,  a  veil 
that  hid  her  features  and  on  her  hands  and  arms  a 
iong  pair  of  motoring  doeskin  gloves.  By  George, 
she  was  a  winner — in  general  looks,  though.  Well, 
something  about  the  clerk,  I  suppose,  must  have 
aroused  her  suspicions.  For,  a  moment  later,  she 
was  gone  in  the  crowd.  Evidently  she  had  thought 
of  the  danger  and  had  picked  out  a  time  when  the 


200  THE  WAR  TERROR 

lobby  would  be  full  and  everybody  busy.  But  she 
did  not  leave  by  the  front  entrance  through  which 
she  entered.  I  concluded  that  she  must  have  left  by 
one  of  the  side  street  carriage  doors." 

"And  she  got  away?" 

"Yes.  I  found  that  she  asked  one  of  the  boys  at 
the  door  to  crank  up  a  car  standing  at  the  curb. 
She  slid  into  the  seat,  and  was  off  in  a  minute." 

Kennedy  said  nothing.  But  I  knew  that  he  was 
making  a  mighty  effort  to  restrain  comment  on  the 
bungling  amateur  detective  work  of  the  son  of  our 
client. 

Reginald  saw  the  look  on  his  face.  "Still,"  he 
hastened,  "I  got  the  number  of  the  car.  It  was 
200859  New  York." 

"You  have  looked  it  up?"  queried  Kennedy 
quickly. 

"I  didn't  need  to  do  it.  A  few  minutes  later 
Dr.  Rae  Wilson  herself  came  out — storming  like 
mad.  Her  car  had  been  stolen  at  the  very  door  of 
the  hotel  by  this  woman  with  the  innocent  aid  of 
the  hotel  employees." 

Kennedy  was  evidently  keenly  interested.  The 
mention  of  the  stolen  car  had  apparently  at  once 
suggested  an  idea  to  him. 

"Mrs.  Blake,"  he  said,  as  he  rose  to  go,  "I  shall 
take  this  letter  with  me.  Will  you  see  that  Buster 
is  sent  up  to  my  laboratory  immediately?" 

She  nodded.  It  was  evident  that  Buster  was  a 
great  pet  with  her  and  that  it  was  with  difficulty 
she  kept  from  smoothing  his  silky  coat. 

"You — you  won't  hurt  Buster?"  she  pleaded. 

"No.  Trust  me.  More  than  that,  if  there  is 
any  possible  way  of  untangling  this  mystery,  I  shall 
do  it." 


THE  GERM  LETTER  201 

Mrs.  Blake  looked  rather  than  spoke  her  thanks. 
As  we  went  downstairs,  accompanied  by  Miss  Sears, 
we  could  see  in  the  music  room  a  very  interesting 
couple,  chatting  earnestly  over  the  piano. 

Betty  Blake,  a  slip  of  a  girl  in  her  first  season, 
was  dividing  her  attention  between  her  visitor  and 
the  door  by  which  we  were  passing. 

She  rose  as  she  heard  us,  leaving  the  young  man 
standing  alone  at  the  piano.  He  was  of  an  age 
perhaps  a  year  or  two  older  than  Reginald  Blake. 
It  was  evident  that,  whatever  Miss  Betty  might 
think,  he  had  eyes  for  no  one  else  but  the  pretty 
debutante.  He  even  seemed  to  be  regarding  Ken- 
nedy sullenly,  as  if  he  were  a  possible  rival. 

"You — you  don't  think  it  is  serious?"  whispered 
Betty  in  an  undertone,  scarcely  waiting  to  be  intro- 
duced. She  had  evidently  known  of  our  visit,  but 
had  been  unable  to  get  away  to  be  present  upstairs. 

"Really,  Miss  Blake,"  reassured  Kennedy,  "I 
can't  say.  All  I  can  do  is  to  repeat  what  I  have 
already  said  to  your  mother.  Keep  up  a  good  heart 
and  trust  me  to  work  it  out." 

"Thank  you,"  she  murmured,  and  then,  impul- 
sively extending  her  small  hand  to  Craig,  she  added, 
"Mr.  Kennedy,  if  there  is  anything  I  can  do  to 
help  you,  I  beg  that  you  will  call  on  me." 

"I  shall  not  forget,"  he  answered,  relinquishing 
the  hand  reluctantly.  Then,  as  she  thanked  him, 
and  turned  again  to  her  guest,  he  added  in  a  low 
tone  to  me,  "A  remarkable  girl,  Walter,  a  girl  that 
can  be  depended  on." 

We  followed  Miss  Sears  down  the  hall. 

"Who  was  that  young  man  in  the  music  room?" 
asked  Kennedy,  when  we  were  out  of  earshot. 

14 


202  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"Duncan  Baldwin,"  she  answered.  UA  friend  and 
bosom  companion  of  Reginald." 

"He  seems  to  think  more  of  Betty  than  of  her 
brother,"  Craig  remarked  dryly. 

Miss  Sears  smiled.  "Sometimes,  we  think  they 
are  secretly  engaged,"  she  returned.  We  had  almost 
reached  the  door.  "By  the  way,"  she  asked  anx- 
iously, "do  you  think  there  are  any  precautions  that 
I  should  take  for  Mrs.  Blake — and  the  rest?" 

"Hardly,"  answered  Kennedy,  after  a  moment's 
consideration,  "as  long  as  you  have  taken  none  in 
particular  already.  Still,  I  suppose  it  will  do  no 
harm  to  be  as  antiseptic  as  possible." 

"I  shall  try,"  she  promised,  her  face  showing  that 
she  considered  the  affair  now  in  a  much  more  serious 
light  than  she  had  before  our  visit. 

"And  keep  me  informed  of  anything  that  turns 
up,"  added  Kennedy  handing  her  a  card  with  the 
telephone  number  of  the  laboratory. 

As  we  left  the  Blake  mansion,  Kennedy  remarked, 
"We  must  trace  that  car  somehow — at  least  we  must 
get  someone  working  on  that." 

Half  an  hour  later  we  were  in  a  towering  office 
building  on  Liberty  Street,  the  home  of  various 
kinds  of  insurance.  Kennedy  stopped  before  a  door 
which  bore  the  name,  "Douglas  Garwood:  Insurance 
Adjuster." 

Briefly,  Craig  told  the  story  of  the  stolen  car, 
omitting  the  account  of  the  dastardly  method  taken 
to  blackmail  Mrs.  Blake.  As  he  proceeded  a  light 
seemed  to  break  on  the  face  of  Garwood,  a  heavy- 
set  man,  whose  very  gaze  was  inquisitorial. 

"Yes,  the  theft  has  been  reported  to  us  already 
by  Dr.  Wilson  herself,"  he  interrupted.  "The  car 
was  insured  in  a  company  I  represent." 


THE  GERM  LETTER  203 

"I  had  hoped  so,"  remarked  Kennedy.  "Do  you 
know  the  woman?"  he  added,  watching  the  insur- 
ance adjuster  who  had  been  listening  intently  as 
he  told  about  the  fair  motor  car  thief. 

"Know  her?"  repeated  Garwood  emphatically. 
"Why,  man,  we  have  been  so  close  to  that  woman 
that  I  feel  almost  intimate  with  her.  The  descrip- 
tions are  those  of  a  lady,  well-dressed,  and  with  a 
voice  and  manner  that  would  carry  her  through  any 
of  the  fashionable  hotels,  perhaps  into  society 
itself." 
"One  of  a  gang  of  blackmailers,  then,"  I  hazarded. 

Garwood  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Perhaps,"  he 
acquiesced.  "It  is  automobile  thieving  that  inter- 
ests me,  though.  "Why,  he  went  on,  rising  excit- 
edly, "the  gangs  of  these  thieves  are  getting  away 
with  half  a  million  dollars'  worth  of  high-priced 
cars  every  year.  The  police  seem  to  be  powerless 
to  stop  it.  We  appeal  to  them,  but  with  no  result. 
So,  now  we  have  taken  things  into  our  own  hands." 

"What  are  you  doing  in  this  case?"  asked  Ken- 
nedy. 

"What  the  insurance  companies  have  to  do  to 
recover  stolen  automobiles,"  Garwood  replied. 
"For,  with  all  deference  to  your  friend,  Deputy 
O'Connor,  it  is  the  insurance  companies  rather  than 
the  police  who  get  stolen  cars  back." 

He  had  pulled  out  a  postal  card  from  a  pigeon 
hole  in  his  desk,  selecting  it  from  several  apparently 
similar.     We  read: 

$250.00    REWARD 

We  will  pay  $100.00  for  car,  $150.00  additional 
for  information  which  will  convict  the  thief.    When 


2o4  THE  WAR  TERROR 

last  seen,  driven  by  a  woman,  name  not  known,  who 
is  described  as  dark-haired,  well-dressed,  slight,  ap- 
parently thirty  years  old.  The  car  is  a  Dixon,  19 12, 
seven-passenger,  touring,  No.  193,222,  license  No. 
200,859,  New  York;  dark  red  body,  mohair  top, 
brass  lamps,  has  no  wind  shield;  rear  axle  brake 
band  device  has  extra  nut  on  turnbuckle  not  painted. 
Car  last  seen  near  Prince  Henry  Hotel,  New  York 
City,  Friday,  the  10th. 

Communicate  by  telegraph  or  telephone,  after 
notifying  nearest  police  department,  with  Douglas 
Garwood,  New  York  City. 

"The  secret  of  it  is,"  explained  Garwood,  as  we 
finished  reading,  "that  there  are  innumerable  people 
who  keep  their  eyes  open  and  like  to  earn  money 
easily.  Thus  we  have  several  hundreds  of  amateur 
and  enthusiastic  detectives  watching  all  over  the  city 
and  country  for  any  car  that  looks  suspicious." 

Kennedy  thanked  him  for  his  courtesy,  and  we 
rose  to  go.  "I  shall  be  glad  to  keep  you  informed 
of  anything  that  turns  up,"  he  promised. 


CHAPTER    XX 

THE   ARTIFICIAL   KIDNEY 

In  the  laboratory,  Kennedy  quietly  set  to  work. 
He  began  by  tearing  from  the  germ  letter  the  piece 
of  gelatine  and  first  examining  it  with  a  pocket  lens. 
Then,  with  a  sterile  platinum  wire,  he  picked  out 
several  minute  sections  of  the  black  spot  on  the 
gelatine  and  placed  them  in  agar,  blood  serum,  and 
other  media  on  which  they  would  be  likely  to  grow. 

"I  shall  have  to  wait  until  to-morrow  to  examine 
them  properly,"  he  remarked.  "There  are  colonies 
of  something  there,  all  right,  but  I  must  have  them 
more  fully  developed." 

A  hurried  telephone  call  late  in  the  day  from 
Miss  Sears  told  us  that  Mrs.  Blake  herself  had 
begun  to  complain,  and  that  Dr.  Wilson  had  been 
summoned  but  had  been  unable  to  give  an  opinion 
on  the  nature  of  the  malady. 

Kennedy  quickly  decided  on  making  a  visit  to  the 
doctor,  who  lived  not  far  downtown  from  the  lab- 
oratory. 

Dr.  Rae  Wilson  proved  to  be  a  nervous  little 
woman,  inclined,  I  felt,  to  be  dictatorial.  I  thought 
that  secretly  she  felt  a  little  piqued  at  our  having 
been  taken  into  the  Blakes'  confidence  before  her- 
self, and  Kennedy  made  every  effort  to  smooth  that 
aspect  over  tactfully. 

2,05 


206  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"Have  you  any  idea  what  it  can  be?"  he  asked 
finally. 

She  shook  her  head  noncommitally.  "I  have 
taken  blood  smears,"  she  answered,  "but  so  far 
haven't  been  able  to  discover  anything.  I  shall  have 
to  have  her  under  observation  for  a  day  or  two 
before  I  can  answer  that.  Still,  as  Mrs.  Blake  is  so 
ill,  I  have  ordered  another  trained  nurse  to  relieve 
Miss  Sears  of  the  added  work,  a  very  efficient  nurse, 
a  Miss  Rogers." 

Kennedy  had  risen  to  go.  "You  have  had  no 
word  about  your  car?"  he  asked  casually. 

"None  yet.     I'm  not  worrying.     It  was  insured." 

"Who  is  this  arch  criminal,  Dr.  Hopf  ?"  I  mused 
as  we  retraced  our  steps  to  the  laboratory.  "Is 
Mrs.  Blake  stricken  now  by  the  same  trouble  that 
seems  to  have  affected  Buster?" 

"Only  my  examination  will  show,"  he  said.  "I 
shall  let  nothing  interfere  with  that  now.  It  must 
be  the  starting  point  for  any  work  that  I  may  do 
in  the  case." 

We  arrived  at  Kennedy's  workshop  of  scientific 
crime  and  he  immediately  plunged  into  work.  Look- 
ing up  he  caught  sight  of  me  standing  helplessly 
idle. 

"Walter,"  he  remarked  thoughtfully  adjusting  a 
microscope,  "suppose  you  run  down  and  see  Gar- 
wood. Perhaps  he  has  something  to  report.  And, 
by  the  way,  while  you  are  out,  make  inquiries  about 
the  Blakes,  young  Baldwin,  Miss  Sears  and  this 
Dr.  Wilson.  I  have  heard  of  her  before,  at  least 
by  name.  Perhaps  you  may  find  something  interest- 
ing." 

Glad  to  have  a  chance  to  seem  to  be  doing  some- 
thing whether  it  amounted  to  anything  or  not,   I 


THE  ARTIFICIAL  KIDNEY         207 

dropped  in  to  see  Garwood.  So  far  he  had  nothing 
to  report  except  the  usual  number  of  false  alarms. 
From  his  office  I  went  up  to  the  Star  where  fortu- 
nately I  found  one  of  the  reporters  who  wrote 
society  notes. 

The  Blakes,  I  found,  as  we  already  knew,  to  be 
well  known  and  moving  in  the  highest  social  circles. 
As  far  as  known  they  had  no  particular  enemies, 
other  than  those  common  to  all  people  of  great 
wealth.  Dr.  Wilson  had  a  large  practice,  built  up 
in  recent  years,  and  was  one  of  the  best  known 
society  physicians  for  women.  Miss  Sears  was  un- 
known, as  far  as  I  could  determine.  As  for  Duncan 
Baldwin,  I  found  that  he  had  become  acquainted 
with  Reginald  Blake  in  college,  that  he  came  of  no 
particular  family  and  seemed  to  have  no  great 
means,  although  he  was  very  popular  in  the  best 
circles.  In  fact  he  had  had,  thanks  to  his  friend,  a 
rather  meteoric  rise  in  society,  though  it  was  re- 
ported that  he  was  somewhat  involved  in  debt  as  a 
result. 

I  returned  to  the  laboratory  to  find  that  Craig 
had  taken  out  of  a  cabinet  a  peculiar  looking  ar- 
rangement. It  consisted  of  thirty-two  tubes,  each 
about  sixteen  inches  long,  with  S-turns,  like  a  minute 
radiator.  It  was  altogether  not  over  a  cubic  foot 
in  size,  and  enclosed  in  a  glass  cylinder.  There  were 
in  it,  perhaps,  fifty  feet  of  tubes,  a  perfectly-closed 
tubular  system  which  I  noticed  Kennedy  was  keep- 
ing absolutely  sterile  in  a  germicidal  solution  of 
some  kind. 

Inside  the  tubes  and  surrounding  them  was  a 
saline  solution  which  was  kept  at  a  uniform  tern-' 
perature  by  a  special  heating  apparatus. 

Kennedy  had  placed  the  apparatus  on  the  labora« 


208  THE  WAR  TERROR 

tory  table  and  then  gently  took  the  little  dog  from 
his  basket  and  laid  him  beside  it.  A  few  minutes 
later  the  poor  little  suffering  Buster  was  mercifully 
under  the  influence  of  an  anesthetic. 

Quickly  Craig  worked.  First  he  attached  the 
end  of  one  of  the  tubes  by  means  of  a  little  cannula 
to  the  carotid  artery  of  the  dog.  Then  the  other 
was  attached  to  the  jugular  vein. 

As  he  released  the  clamp  which  held  the  artery, 
the  little  dog's  feverishly  beating  heart  spurted  the 
arterial  blood  from  the  carotid  into  the  tubes  hold- 
ing the  normal  salt  solution  and  that  pressure,  in 
turn,  pumped  the  salt  solution  which  filled  the  tubes 
into  the  jugular  vein,  thus  replacing  the  arterial 
blood  that  had  poured  into  the  tubes  from  the  other 
end  and  maintaining  the  normal  hydrostatic  condi- 
tions in  the  body  circulation.  The  dog  was  being 
kept  alive,  although  perhaps  a  third  of  his  blood 
was  out  of  his  body. 

"You  see,"  he  said  at  length,  after  we  had  watched 
the  process  a  few  minutes,  "what  I  have  here  is  in 
reality  an  artificial  kidney.  It  is  a  system  that  has 
been  devised  by  several  doctors  at  Johns  Hopkins. 

"If  there  is  any  toxin  in  the  blood  of  this  dog, 
the  kidneys  are  naturally  endeavoring  to  eliminate 
it.  Perhaps  it  is  being  eliminated  too  slowly.  In 
that  case  this  arrangement  which  I  have  here  will 
aid  them.  We  call  it  vividiffusion  and  it  depends 
for  its  action  on  the  physical  principle  of  osmosis, 
the  passage  of  substances  of  a  certain  kind  through 
a  porous  membrane,  such  as  these  tubes  of  celloidin. 

"Thus  any  substance,  any  poison  that  is  dialyzable 
is  diffused  into  the  surrounding  salt  solution  and  the 
blood  is  passed  back  into  the  body,  with  no  air 
in  it,  no  infection,  and  without  alteration.     Clotting 


THE  ARTIFICIAL  KIDNEY         209 

is  prevented  by  the  injection  of  a  harmless  substance 
derived  from  leeches,  known  as  hirudin.  I  prevent 
the  loss  of  anything  in  the  blood  which  I  want 
retained  by  placing  in  the  salt  solution  around  the 
tubes  an  amount  of  that  substance  equal  to  that  held 
in  solution  by  the  blood.  Of  course  that  does  not 
apply  to  the  colloidal  substances  in  the  blood  which 
would  not  pass  by  osmosis  under  any  circumstances. 
But  by  such  adjustments  I  can  remove  and  study 
any  desired  substance  in  the  blood,  provided  it  is 
capable  of  diffusion.  In  fact  this  little  apparatus 
has  been  found  in  practice  to  compare  favorably 
with  the  kidneys  themselves  in  removing  even  a 
lethal  dose  of  poison." 

I  watched  in  amazement.  He  was  actually  clean- 
ing the  blood  of  the  dog  and  putting  it  back  again, 
purified,  into  the  little  body.  Far  from  being 
cruel,  as  perhaps  it  might  seem,  it  was  in  reality 
probably  the  only  method  by  which  the  animal  could 
be  saved,  and  at  the  same  time  it  was  giving  us  a 
clue  as  to  some  elusive,  subtle  substance  used  in  the 
case.  1 

"Indeed,"  Kennedy  went  on  reflectively,  "this 
process  can  be  kept  up  for  several  hours  without 
injury  to  the  dog,  though  I  do  not  think  that  will 
be  necessary  to  relieve  the  unwonted  strain  that  has 
been  put  upon  his  natural  organs.  Finally,  at  the 
close  of  the  operation,  serious  loss  of  blood  is  over- 
come by  driving  back  the  greater  part  of  it  into 
his  body,  closing  up  the  artery  and  vein,  and  taking 
good  care  of  the  animal  so  that  he  will  make  a  quick 
recovery." 

For  a  long  time  I  watched  the  fascinating  process 
of  seeing  the  life  blood  coursing  through  the  porous 
tubes  in  the  salt  solution,  while  Kennedy  gave  his 


210  THE  WAR  TERROR 

undivided  attention  to  the  success  of  the  delicate 
experiment.  It  was  late  when  I  left  him,  still  at 
work  over  Buster,  and  went  up  to  our  apartment  to 
turn  in,  convinced  that  nothing  more  would  happen 
that  night. 

The  next  morning,  with  characteristic  energy, 
Craig  was  at  work  early,  examining  the  cultures  he 
had  made  from  the  black  spots  on  the  gelatine. 

By  the  look  of  perplexity  on  his  face,  I  knew  that 
he  had  discovered  something  that  instead  of  clearing 
the  mystery  up,  further  deepened  it. 

"What  do  you  find?"  I  asked  anxiously. 

"Walter,"  he  exclaimed,  laying  aside  the  last  of 
the  slides  which  he  had  been  staining  and  looking  at 
intently  through  the  microscope,  "that  stuff  on  the 
gelatine  is  entirely  harmless.  There  was  nothing 
in  it  except  common  mold." 

For  the  moment  I  did  not  comprehend. 
"Mold?"  I  repeated. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "just  common,  ordinary  mold 
such  as  grows  on  the  top  of  a  jar  of  fruit  or  pre- 
serves when  it  is  exposed  to  the  air." 

I  stifled  an  exclamation  of  incredulity.  It  seemed 
impossible  that  the  deadly  germ  note  should  be 
harmless,  in  view  of  the  events  that  had  followed 
its  receipt. 

Just  then  the  laboratory  door  was  flung  open  and 
Reginald  Blake,  pale  and  excited,  entered.  He  had 
every  mark  of  having  been  up  all  night. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Craig. 

"It's  about  my  mother,"  he  blurted  out.  "She 
seems  to  be  getting  worse  all  the  time.  Miss  Sears 
is  alarmed,  and  Betty  is  almost  ill  herself  with 
worry.    Dr.  Wilson  doesn't  seem  to  know  what  it  is 


THE  ARTIFICIAL  KIDNEY         211 

that  affects  her,  -  and  neither  does  the  new  nurse. 
Can't  you  do  something?" 

There  was  a  tone  of  appeal  in  his  voice  that  was 
not  like  the  self-sufficient  Reginald  of  the  day  before. 

"Does  there  seem  to  be  any  immediate  danger?" 
asked  Kennedy. 

"Perhaps  not — I  can't  say,"  he  urged.  "But  she 
is  gradually  getting  worse  instead  of  better." 

Kennedy  thought  a  moment.  "Has  anything  else 
happened?"  he  asked  slowly. 

"N-no.    That's  enough,  isn't  it?" 

"Indeed  it  is,"  replied  Craig,  trying  to  be  reas- 
suring. Then,  recollecting  Betty,  he  added,  "Regi- 
nald, go  back  and  tell  your  sister  for  me  that  she 
must  positively  make  the  greatest  effort  of  her  life 
to  control  herself.  Tell  her  that  her  mother  needs 
her — needs  her  well  and  brave.  I  shall  be  up  at 
the  house  immediately.  Do  the  best  you  can.  I 
depend  on  you." 

Kennedy's  words  seemed  to  have  a  bracing  effect 
on  Reginald  and  a  few  moments  later  he  left,  much 
calmer. 

"I  hope  I  have  given  him  something  to  do  which 
will  keep  him  from  mussing  things  up  again,"  re- 
marked Kennedy,  mindful  of  Reginald's  former  ex- 
cursion into  detective  work. 

Meanwhile  Craig  plunged  furiously  into  his  study 
of  the  substances  he  had  isolated  from  the  saline 
solution  in  which  he  had  "washed"  the  blood  of  the 
little  Pekinese. 

"There's  no  use  doing  anything  in  the  dark,"  he 
explained.  "Until  we  know  what  it  is  we  are  fight- 
ing we  can't  very  well  fight." 

For  the  moment  I  was  overwhelmed  by  the  im- 
pending tragedy  that  seemed  to  be  hanging  over 


212  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Mrs.  Blake.     The  more  I  thought  of  it,  the  more 
inexplicable  became  the  discovery  of  the  mold. 

"That  is  all  very  well  about  the  mold  on  the 
gelatine  strip  in  the  letter,"  I  insisted  at  length. 
"But,  Craig,  there  must  be  something  wrong  some- 
where. Mere  molds  could  not  have  made  Buster 
so  ill,  and  now  the  infection,  or  whatever  it  is,  has 
spread  to  Mrs.  Blake  herself.  What  have  you 
found  out  by  studying  Buster?" 

He  looked  up  from  his  close  scrutiny  of  the  ma- 
terial in  one  of  the  test  tubes  which  contained  some- 
thing he  had  recovered  from  the  saline  solution  of 
the  diffusion  apparatus. 

I  could  read  on  his  face  that  whatever  it  was,  it 
was  serious.  "What  is  it?"  I  repeated  almost 
breathlessly. 

"I  suppose  I  might  coin  a  word  to  describe  it," 
he  answered  slowly,  measuring  his  phrases.  "Per- 
haps it  might  be  called  hyper-amino-acidemia." 

I  puckered  my  eyes  at  the  mouth-filling  term 
Kennedy  smiled.  "It  would  mean,"  he  explained, 
"a  great  quantity  of  the  amino-acids,  non-coagula. 
ble,  nitrogenous  compounds  in  the  blood.  You  know 
the  indols,  the  phenols,  and  the  amins  are  produced 
both  by  putrefactive  bacteria  and  by  the  process  of 
metabolism,  the  burning  up  of  the  tissues  in  tha 
process  of  utilizing  the  energy  that  means  life.  But 
under  normal  circumstances,  the  amins  are  not  pres- 
ent in  the  blood  in  any  such  quantities  as  I  have  dis- 
covered by  this  new  method  of  diffusion." 

He  paused  a  moment,  as  if  in  deference  to  my 
inability  to  follow  him  on  such  an  abstruse  topic, 
then  resumed,  "As  far  as  I  am  able  to  determine, 
this  poison  or  toxin  is  an  amin  similar  to  that  se* 
creted  by  certain  cephalopods  found  in  the  VLUf/a> 


THE  ARTIFICIAL  KIDNEY         213. 

borhood  of  Naples.  It  is  an  aromatic  amin.  Smell 
it." 

I  bent  over  and  inhaled  the  peculiar  odor. 

"Those  creatures,"  he  continued,  "catch  their  prey 
by  this  highly  active  poison  secreted  by  the  so-called 
salivary  glands.  Even  a  little  bit  will  kill  a  crab 
easily." 

I  was  following  him  now  with  intense  interest, 
thinking  of  the  astuteness  of  a  mind  capable  of 
thinking  of  such  a  poison. 

"Indeed,  it  is  surprising,"  he  resumed  thought- 
fully, "how  many  an  innocent  substance  can  be 
changed  by  bacteria  into  a  virulent  poison.  In  fact 
our  poisons  and  our  drugs  are  in  many  instances  the 
close  relations  of  harmless  compounds  that  repre- 
sent the  intermediate  steps  in  the  daily  process  of 
metabolism." 

"Then,"  I  put  in,  "the  toxin  was  produced  by 
germs,  after  all?" 

"I  did  not  say  that,"  he  corrected.  "It  might 
have  been.  But  I  find  no  germs  in  the  blood  of 
Buster.  Nor  did  Dr.  Wilson  find  any  in  the  blood 
smears  which  she  took  from  Mrs.  Blake." 

He  seemed  to  have  thrown  the  whole  thing  back 
again  into  the  limbo  of  the  unexplainable,  and  I  felt 
nonplussed. 

"The  writer  of  that  letter,"  he  went  on,  waving 
the  piece  of  sterile  platinum  wire  with  which  he  had 
been  transferring  drops  of  liquid  in  his  search  for 
germs,  "was  a  much  more  skillful  bacteriologist 
than  I  thought,  evidently.  No,  the  trouble  does 
not  seem  to  be  from  germs  breathed  in,  or  from 
germs  at  all — it  is  from  some  kind  of  germ-free 
toxin  that  has  been  injected  or  otherwise  intro- 
duced." 


214  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Vaguely  now  I  began  to  appreciate  the  terrible 
significance   of  what  he  had  discovered. 

"But  the  letter?"  I  persisted  mechanically. 

"The  writer  of  that  was  quite  as  shrewd  a  psy- 
chologist as  bacteriologist,"  pursued  Craig  impres- 
sively. "He  calculated  the  moral  effect  of  the  letter, 
then  of  Buster's  illness,  and  finally  of  reaching  Mrs. 
Blake  herself." 

"You  think  Dr.  Rae  Wilson  knows  nothing  of  it 
yet?"  I  queried. 

Kennedy  appeared  to  consider  his  answer  care- 
fully. Then  he  said  slowly:  "Almost  any  doctor 
with  a  microscope  and  the  faintest  trace  of  a  scien- 
tific education  could  recognize  disease  germs  either 
naturally  or  feloniously  implanted.  But  when  it 
comes  to  the  detection  of  concentrated,  filtered, 
germ-free  toxins,  almost  any  scientist  might  be  baf- 
fled. Walter,"  he  concluded,  "this  is  not  mere  black- 
mail, although  perhaps  the  visit  of  that  woman  to 
the  Prince  Henry — a  desperate  thing  in  itself,  al- 
though she  did  get  away  by  her  quick  thinking — 
perhaps  that  shows  that  these  people  are  ready  to 
stop  at  nothing.  No,  it  goes  deeper  than  black- 
mail." 

I  stood  aghast  at  the  discovery  of  this  new  method 
of  scientific  murder.  The  astute  criminal,  whoever 
he  might  be,  had  planned  to  leave  not  even  the  slen- 
der clue  that  might  be  afforded  by  disease  germs. 
He  was  operating,  not  with  disease  itself,  but  with 
something  showing  the  ultimate  effects,  perhaps,  of 
disease  with  none  of  the  preliminary  symptoms,  baf- 
fling even  to  the  best  of  physicians. 

I  scarcely  knew  what  to  say.  Before  I  realized 
it,  however,  Craig  was  at  last  ready  for  the  prom- 


THE  ARTIFICIAL  KIDNEY         215 

ised  visit  to  Mrs.  Blake.  We  went  together,  carry- 
ing Buster,  in  his  basket,  not  recovered,  to  be  sure, 
but  a  very  different  little  animal  from  the  dying 
creature  that  had  been  sent  to  us  at  the  laboratory. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

THE  POISON  BRACELET 

We  reached  the  Blake  mansion  and  were  promptly 
admitted.  Miss  Betty,  bearing  up  bravely  under 
Reginald's  reassurances,  greeted  us  before  we  were 
fairly  inside  the  door,  though  she  and  her  brother 
were  not  able  to  conceal  the  fact  that  their  mother 
was  no  better.  Miss  Sears  was  out,  for  an  airing, 
and  the  new  nurse,  Miss  Rogers,  was  in  charge  of 
the  patient. 

"How  do  you  feel,  this  morning?"  inquired  Ken- 
nedy as  we  entered  the  sun-parlor,  where  Mrs.  Blake 
had  first  received  us. 

A  single  glance  was  enough  to  satisfy  me  of  the 
seriousness  of  her  condition.  She  seemed  to  be  in 
almost  a  stupor  from  which  she  roused  herself  only 
with  difficulty.  It  was  as  if  some  overpowering  toxin 
were  gradually  undermining  her  already  weakened 
constitution. 

She  nodded  recognition,  but  nothing  further. 

Kennedy  had  set  the  dog  basket  down  near  her 
wheel-chair  and  she  caught  sight  of  it. 

"Buster?"  she  murmured,  raising  her  eyes.  "Is 
—he— all  right?" 

For  answer,  Craig  simply  raised  the  lid  of  the 
basket.  Buster  already  seemed  to  have  recognized 
the  voice  of  his  mistress,  and,  with  an  almost  human 

216 


THE  POISON  BRACELET  217 

instinct,  to  realize  that  though  he  himself  was  still 
weak  and  ill,  she  needed  encouragement. 

As  Mrs.  Blake  stretched  out  her  slender  hand, 
drawn  with  pain,  to  his  silky  head,  he  gave  a  little 
yelp  of  delight  and  his  little  red  tongue  eagerly 
caressed  her  hand. 

It  was  as  though  the  two  understood  each  other. 
Although  Mrs.  Blake,  as  yet,  had  no  more  idea 
what  had  happened  to  her  pet,  she  seemed  to  feel 
by  some  subtle  means  of  thought  transference  that 
the  intelligent  little  animal  was  conveying  to  her  a 
message  of  hope.  The  caress,  the  sharp,  joyous 
yelp,  and  the  happy  wagging  of  the  bushy  tail  seemed 
to  brighten  her  up,  at  least  for  the  moment,  almost 
as  if  she  had  received  a  new  impetus. 

"Buster!"  she  exclaimed,  overjoyed  to  get  her 
pet  back  again  in  so  much  improved  condition. 

"I  wouldn't  exert  myself  too  much,  Mrs.  Blake," 
cautioned  Kennedy. 

"Were — were  there  any  germs  in  the  letter?"  she 
asked,  as  Reginald  and  Betty  stood  on  the  other 
side  of  the  chair,  much  encouraged,  apparently,  at 
this  show  of  throwing  off  the  lethargy  that  had 
seized  her. 

"Yes,  but  about  as  harmless  as  those  would  be 
on  a  piece  of  cheese,"  Kennedy  hastened. 

"But  I — I  feel  so  weak,  so  played  out — and  my 
head " 

Her  voice  trailed  off,  a  too  evident  reminder  that 
her  improvement  had  been  only  momentary  and 
prompted  by  the  excitement  of  our  arrival. 

Betty  bent  down  solicitously  and  made  her  more 
comfortable  as  only  one  woman  can  make  another. 
Kennedy,    meanwhile,   had   been   talking   to    Miss 

15 


2i 8  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Rogers,  and  I  could  see  that  he  was  secredf  taking 
her  measure. 

"Has  Dr.  Wilson  been  here  this  morning  ?"  I 
heard  him  ask. 

"Not  yet,"  she  replied.  "But  we  expect  her 
soon." 

"Professor  Kennedy?"  announced  a  servant. 

"Yes?"  answered  Craig. 

"There  is  someone  on  the  telephone  who  wants 
to  speak  to  you.  He  said  he  had  called  the  labora- 
tory first  and  that  they  told  him  to  call  you  here." 

Kennedy  hurried  after  the  servant,  while  Betty 
and  Reginald  joined  me,  waiting,  for  we  seemed  to 
feel  that  something  was  about  to  happen. 

"One  of  the  unofficial  detectives  has  unearthed  a 
clue,"  he  whispered  to  me  a  few  moments  later  when 
he  returned.  "It  was  Garwood."  Then  to  the 
others  he  added,  "A  car,  repainted,  and  with  the 
number  changed,  but  otherwise  answering  the  de- 
scription of  Dr.  Wilson's  has  been  traced  to  the 
West  Side.  It  is  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of 
a  saloon  and  garage  where  drivers  of  taxicabs  hang 
out.  Reginald,  I  wish  you  would  come  along  with 
us." 

To  Betty's  unspoken  question  Craig  hastened  to 
add,  "I  don't  think  there  is  any  immediate  danger. 
If  there  is  any  change — let  me  know.  I  shall  call 
up  soon.  And  meanwhile,"  he  lowered  his  voice  to 
impress  the  instruction  on  her,  "don't  leave  your 
mother  for  a  moment — not  for  a  moment,"  he  em- 
phasized. 

Reginald  was  ready  and  together  we  three  set  off 
to  meet  Garwood  at  a  subway  station  near  the  point 
where  the  car  had  been  reported.  We  had  scarcely 
closed  the  front  door,  when  we  ran  into  Duncan 


THE  POISON  BRACELET  119 

Baldwin,  coming  down  the  street,  evidently  bent  on 
inquiring  how  Mrs.  Blake  and  Betty  were. 

"Much  better,"  reassured  Kennedy.  "Come  on, 
Baldwin.  We  can't  have  too  many  on  whom  we  can 
rely  on  an  expedition  like  this." 

"Like  what?"  he  asked,  evidently  not  compre- 
hending. 

"There's  a  clue,  they  think,  to  that  car  of  Dr. 
Wilson's,"  hastily  explained  Reginald,  linking  his 
arm  into  that  of  his  friend  and  falling  in  behind 
us,  as  Craig  hurried  ahead. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  reach  the  subway,  and  as 
we  waited  for  the  train,  Craig  remarked:  "This  is  a 
pretty  good  example  of  how  the  automobile  is  be- 
coming one  of  the  most  dangerous  of  criminal 
weapons.  All  one  has  to  do  nowadays,  apparently, 
after  committing  a  crime,  is  to  jump  into  a  waiting 
car  and  breeze  away,  safe." 

We  met  Garwood  and  under  his  guidance  picked 
our  way  westward  from  the  better  known  streets  in 
the  heart  of  the  city,  to  a  section  that  was  anything 
but  prepossessing. 

The  place  which  Garwood  sought  was  a  typical 
Raines  Law  hotel  on  a  corner,  with  a  saloon  on  the 
first  floor,  and  apparently  the  requisite  number  of 
rooms  above  to  give  it  a  legal  license. 

We  had  separated  a  little  so  that  we  would  not 
attract  undue  attention.  Kennedy  and  I  entered  the 
swinging  doors  boldly,  while  the  others  continued 
across  to  the  other  corner  to  wait  with  Garwood 
and  take  in  the  situation.  It  was  a  strange  expedi- 
tion and  Reginald  was  fidgeting  while  Duncan 
seemed  nervous. 

Among  the  group  of  chauffeurs  lounging  at  the 
bar  aad  in  the  back  room  anyone  who  had  ever  had 


22o  THE  WAR  TERROR 

any  dealings  with  the  gangs  of  New  York  might 
have  recognized  the  faces  of  men  whose  pictures 
were  in  the  rogues'  gallery  and  who  were  members 
of  those  various  aristocratic  organizations  of  the 
underworld. 

Kennedy  glanced  about  at  the  motley  crowd. 
"This  is  a  place  where  you  need  only  to  be  intro- 
duced properly,"  he  whispered  to  me,  "to  have  any 
kind  of  crime  committed  for  you." 

As  we  stood  there,  observing,  without  appearing 
to  do  so,  through  an  open  window  on  the  side  street 
I  could  tell  from  the  sounds  that  there  was  a  garage 
in  the  rear  of  the  hotel. 

We  were  startled  to  hear  a  sudden  uproar  from 
the  street. 

Garwood,  impatient  at  our  delay,  had  walked 
down  past  the  garage  to  reconnoiter.  A  car  was 
being  backed  out  hurriedly,  and  as  it  turned  and 
swung  around  the  corner,  his  trained  eye  had  recog- 
nized it. 

Instantly  he  had  reasoned  that  it  was  an  attempt 
to  make  a  getaway,  and  had  raised  an  alarm. 

Those  nearest  the  door  piled  out,  keen  for  any 
excitement.  We,  too,  dashed  out  on  the  street. 
There  we  saw  passing  an  automobile,  swaying  and 
lurching  at  the  terrific  speed  with  which  its  driver, 
urged  it  up  the  avenue.  As  he  flashed  by  he  looked 
like  an  Italian  to  me,  perhaps  a  gunman. 

Garwood  had  impressed  a  passing  trolley  car 
into  service  and  was  pursuing  the  automobile  in  it, 
as  it  swayed  on  its  tracks  as  crazily  as  the  motor  did 
on  the  roadway,  running  with  all  the  power  the 
motorman  could  apply. 

A  mounted  policeman  galloped  past  us,  blazing 
away  at  the  tires.     The  avenue  was  stirred,  as  sel- 


THE  POISON  BRACELET  221 

dom  even  in  its  strenuous  life,  with  reports  of  shots, 
honking  of  horns,  the  clang  of  trolley  bells  and  the 
shouts  of  men. 

The  pursuers  were  losing  when  there  came  a 
rattle  and  roar  from  the  rear  wheels  which  told 
that  the  tires  were  punctured  and  the  heavy  car  was 
riding  on  its  rims.  A  huge  brewery  wagon  crossing 
a  side  street  paused  to  see  the  fun,  effectually  block- 
ing the  road. 

The  car  jolted  to  a  stop.  The  chauffeur  leaped 
out  and  a  moment  later  dived  down  into  a  cellar.  In 
that  congested  district,  pursuit  was  useless. 

"Only  an  accomplice,"  commented  Kennedy. 
"Perhaps  we  can  get  him  some  other  way  if  we  can 
catch  the  man — or  woman — higher  up." 

Down  the  street  now  we  could  see  Garwood  sur- 
rounded by  a  curious  crowd  but  in  possession  of  the 
car.  I  looked  about  for  Duncan  and  Reginald. 
They  had  apparently  been  swallowed  up  in  the 
crowds  of  idlers  which  seemed  to  be  pouring  out  of 
nowhere,  collecting  to  gape  at  the  excitement,  after 
the  manner  of  a  New  York  crowd. 

As  I  ran  my  eye  over  them,  I  caught  sight  of 
Reginald  near  the  corner  where  we  had  left  him  in 
an  incipient  fight  with  someone  who  had  a  fancied 
grievance.    A  moment  later  we  had  rescued  him. 

"Where's  Duncan?"  he  panted.  "Did  anything 
happen  to  him?  Garwood  told  us  to  stay  here — 
but  we  got  separated." 

Policemen  had  appeared  on  the  heels  of  the  crowd 
and  now,  except  for  a  knot  following  Garwood, 
things  seemed  to  be  calming  down. 

The  excitement  over,  and  the  people  thinning 
out,  Kennedy  still  could  not  find  any  trace  of  Dun- 
can.   Finally  he  glanced  in  again  through  the  swing- 


22a  THE  WAR  TERROR 

ing  doors.  There  was  Duncan,  evidently  quite  upset 
by  what  had  occurred,  fortifying  himself  at  the  bar. 

Suddenly  from  above  came  a  heavy  thud,  as  if 
someone  had  fallen  on  the  floor  above  us,  followed 
by  a  suppressed  shuffling  of  feet  and  a  cry  of  help. 

Kennedy  sprang  toward  a  side  door  which  led  out 
into  the  hall  to  the  hotel  room  above.  It  was  locked. 
Before  any  of  the  others  he  ran  out  on  the  street 
and  into  the  hall  that  way,  taking  the  stairs  two 
at  a  time,  past  a  little  cubby-hole  of  an  "office"  and 
down  the  upper  hall  to  a  door  from  which  came 
the  cry. 

It  was  a  peculiar  room  into  which  we  burst,  half 
bedroom,  half  workshop,  or  rather  laboratory,  for 
on  a  deal  table  by  a  window  stood  a  rack  of  test- 
tubes,  several  beakers,  and  other  paraphernalia. 

A  chambermaid  was  shrieking  over  a  woman  who 
was  lying  lethargic  on  the  floor. 

I  looked  more  closely. 

It  was  Dora  Sears. 

For  the  moment  I  could  not  imagine  what  had 
happened.  Had  the  events  of  the  past  few  days 
worked  on  her  mind  and  driven  her  into  temporary 
insanity?  Or  had  the  blackmailing  gang  of  auto- 
mobile thieves,  failing  in  extorting  money  by  their 
original  plan,  seized  her? 

Kennedy  bent  over  and  tried  to  lift  her  up.  As 
he  did  so,  the  gold  bracelet,  unclasped,  clattered  to 
the  floor. 

He  picked  it  up  and  for  a  moment  looked  at  it. 
It  was  hollow,  but  in  that  part  of  it  where  it  un- 
clasped could  be  seen  a  minute  hypodermic  needle 
and  traces  of  a  liquid. 

"A  poison  bracelet,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "one 
in  which  enough  of  a  virulent  poison  could  be  hidden 


THE  POISON  BRACELET  123 

so  that  bo  an  emergency  death  could  cheat  the  law." 

"But  this  Dr.  Hopf,"  exclaimed  Reginald,  who 
stood  behind  us  looking  from  the  insensible  girl  to 
the  bracelet  and  slowly  comprehending  what  it  all 
meant,  "she  alone  knows  where  and  who  he  is!" 

We  looked  at  Kennedy.  What  was  to  be  done? 
Was  the  criminal  higher  up  to  escape  because  one 
of  his  tools  had  been  cornered  and  had  taken  the 
easiest  way  to  get  out? 

Kennedy  had  taken  down  the  receiver  of  the  wall 
telephone  in  the  room.  A  moment  later  he  was 
calling  insistently  for  his  laboratory.  One  of  the 
students  in  another  part  of  the  building  answered. 
Quickly  he  described  the  apparatus  for  vividiffusion 
and  how  to  handle  it  without  rupturing  any  of  the 
delicate  tubes." 

"The  large  one,"  he  ordered,  "with  one  hundred 
and  ninety-two  tubes.     And  hurry." 

Before  the  student  appeared,  came  an  ambulance 
which  some  one  in  the  excitement  had  summoned. 
Kennedy  quickly  commandeered  both  the  young  doc- 
tor and  what  surgical  material  he  had  with  him. 

Briefly  he  explained  what  he  proposed  to  do  and 
before  the  student  arrived  with  the  apparatus,  they 
had  placed  the  nurse  in  such  a  position  that  they 
were  ready  for  the  operation. 

The  next  room  which  was  unoccupied  had  been 
thrown  open  to  us  and  there  I  waited  with  Reginald 
and  Duncan,  endeavoring  to  explain  to  them  the 
mysteries  of  the  new  process  of  washing  the  blood. 

The  minutes  lengthened  into  hours,  as  the  blood 
of  the  poisoned  girl  coursed  through  its  artificial 
channel,  literally  being  washed  of  the  toxin  from  the 
poisoned  bracelet. 

Would  it  succeed?     It  had   saved  the  life  of 


224  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Buster.  But  would  it  bring  back  the  unfortunate 
before  us,  long  enough  even  for  her  to  yield  her 
secret  and  enable  us  to  catch  the  real  criminal.  What 
if  she  died? 

As  Kennedy  worked,  the  young  men  with  me  be- 
came more  and  more  fascinated,  watching  him.  The 
vividiffusion  apparatus  was  now  in  full  operation. 

In  the  intervals  when  he  left  the  apparatus  in 
charge  of  the  young  ambulance  surgeon  Kennedy 
was  looking  over  the  room.  In  a  trunk  which  was 
open  he  found  several  bundles  of  papers.  As  he 
ran  his  eye  over  them  quickly,  he  selected  some  and 
stuffed  them  into  his  pocket,  then  .went  back  to  watch 
the  working  of  the  apparatus. 

Reginald,  who  had  been  growing  more  and  more 
nervous,  at  last  asked  if  he  might  call  up  Betty  to 
find  out  how  his  mother  was. 

He  came  back  from  the  telephone,  his  face 
wrinkled. 

"Poor  mother,"  he  remarked  anxiously,  "do  you 
think  she  will  pull  through,  Professor?  Betty  says 
that  Dr.  Wilson  has  given  her  no  idea  yet  about 
the  nature  of  the  trouble." 

Kennedy  thought  a  moment.  "Of  course,"  he 
said,  "your  mother  has  had  no  such  relative  amount 
of  the  poison  as  Buster  has  had.  I  think  that  un- 
doubtedly she  will  recover  by  purely  natural  means. 
I  hope  so.  But  if  not,  here  is  the  apparatus,"  and 
he  patted  the  vividiffusion  tubes  in  their  glass  case, 
"that  will  save  her,  too." 

As  well  as  I  could  I  explained  to  Reginald  the 
nature  of  the  toxin  that  Kennedy  had  discovered. 
Duncan  listened,  putting  in  a  question  now  and  then. 
But  it  was  evident  that  his  thoughts  were  on  some- 
thing else,  and  now  and  then  Reginald,  breaking  into 


THE  POISON  BRACELET  225 

his  old  humor,  rallied  him  about  thinking  of  Betty. 

A  low  exclamation  from  both  Kennedy  and  the 
surgeon  attracted  us. 

Dora  Sears  had  moved. 

The  operation  of  the  apparatus  was  stopped,  the 
artery  and  vein  had  been  joined  up,  and  she  was 
slowly  coming  out  from  under  the  effects  of  the 
anesthetic. 

As  we  gathered  about  her,  at  a  little  distance,  we 
heard  her  cry  in  her  delirium,  "I — I  would  have — 
done — anything — for  him." 

We  strained  our  ears.  Was  she  talking  of  the 
blackmailer,  Dr.  Hopf  ? 

"Who?"  asked  Craig,  bending  over  close  to  her 
ear. 

"I — I  would — have  done  anything,"  she  repeated 
as  if  someone  had  contradicted  her.  She  went  on, 
dreamily,  ramblingly,  "He — is — is — my  brother. 
I " 

She  stopped  through  weakness. 

"Where  is  Dr.  Hopf?"  asked  Kennedy,  trying  to 
recall  her  fleeting  attention. 

"Dr.  Hopf?  Dr.  Hopf?"  she  repeated,  then 
smiling  to  herself  as  people  will  when  they  are  leav- 
ing the  borderline  of  anesthesia,  she  repeated  the 
name,  "Hopf?" 

"Yes,"  persisted  Kennedy. 

"There  is  no  Dr.  Hopf,"  she  added.  "Tell  me- — 
did — did  thsy " 

"No  Dr.  Hopf?"  Kennedy  insisted. 

She  had  lapsed  again  into  half  insensibility. 

He  rose  and  faced  us,  speaking  rapidly. 

"New  York  seems  to  have  a  mysterious  and  un- 
canny attraction  for  odds  and  ends  of  humanity, 
among  them  the  great  army  of  adventuresses.     In 


226  THE  WAR  TERROR 

fact  there  often  seems  to  be  something  decidedly 
adventurous  about  the  nursing  profession.  This  is 
a  girl  of  unusual  education  in  medicine.  Evidently 
she  has  traveled — her  letters  show  it.  Many  of 
them  show  that  she  has  been  in  Italy.  Perhaps  it 
was  there  that  she  heard  of  the  drug  that  has  been 
used  in  this  case.  It  was  she  who  injected  the  germ- 
free  toxin,  first  into  the  dog,  then  into  Mrs.  Blake, 
she  who  wrote  the  blackmail  letter  which  was  to 
have  explained  the  death." 

He  paused.  Evidently  she  had  heard  dimly,  was 
straining  every  effort  to  hear.  In  her  effort  she 
caught  sight  of  our  faces. 

Suddenly,  as  if  she  had  seen  an  apparition,  she 
raised  herself  with  almost  superhuman  strength. 

"Duncan!"  she  cried.  "Duncan!  Why — didn't 
you — get  away — while  there  was  time — after  you 
warned  me?" 

Kennedy  had  wheeled  about  and  was  facing  us. 
He  was  holding  in  his  hand  some  of  the  letters  he 
had  taken  from  the  trunk.  Among  others  was  a 
folded  piece  of  parchment  that  looked  like  a  di- 
ploma.   He  unfolded  it  and  we  bent  over  to  read. 

It  was  a  diploma  from  the  Central  Western  Col- 
lege of  Nursing.-  As  I  read  the  name  written  in,  it 
was  with  a  shock.  It  was  not  Dora  Sears,  but  Dora 
Baldwin. 

"A  very  clever  plot,"  he  ground  out,  taking  a 
step  nearer  us.  "With  the  aid  of  your  sister  and  a 
disreputable  gang  of  chauffeurs  yoi^  planned  to 
hasten  the  death  of  Mrs.  Blake,  to  hasten  the  in- 
heritance of  the  Blake  fortune  by  your  future  wife. 
I  think  your  creditors  will  have  less  chance  of  col- 
lecting now  than  ever,  Duncan  Baldwin." 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THE  DEVIL  WORSHIPERS 

Tragic  though  the  end  of  the  young  nurse,  Dora 
Baldwin,  had  been,  the  scheme  of  her  brother,  in 
which  she  had  become  fatally  involved,  was  by  no 
means  as  diabolical  as  that  in  the  case  that  con- 
fronted us  a  short  time  after  that. 

I  recall  this  case  particularly  not  only  because  it 
was  so  weird  but  also  because  of  the  unique  manner 
in  which  it  began. 

UI  am  damned — Professor  Kennedy — damned!" 

The  words  rang  out  as  the  cry  of  a  lost  soul. 
A  terrible  look  of  inexpressible  anguish  and  fear  was 
written  on  the  face  of  Craig's  visitor,  as  she  uttered 
them  and  sank  back,  trembling,  in  the  easy  chair, 
mentally  and  physically  convulsed. 

As  nearly  as  I  had  been  able  to  follow,  Mrs. 
Veda  Blair's  story  had  dealt  mostly  with  a  Profes- 
sor and  Madame  Rapport  and  something  she  called 
the  "Red  Lodge"  of  the  "Temple  of  the  Occult." 

She  was  not  exactly  a  young  woman,  although 
she  was  a  very  attractive  one.  She  was  of  an  age 
that  is,  perhaps,  even  more  interesting  than  youth. 

Veda  Blair,  I  knew,  had  been,  before  her  recent 
marriage  to  Seward  Blair,  a  Treacy,  of  an  old, 
though  somewhat  unfortunate,  family.  Both  the 
Blairs  and  the  Treacys  had  been  intimate  and  old 
Seward  Blair,  when  he  died  about  a  year  before, 

227 


228  THE  WAR  TERROR 

had  left  his  fortune  to  his  son  on  the  condition  that 
he  marry  Veda  Treacy. 

"Sometimes,"  faltered  Mrs.  Blair,  "it  is  as  though 
I  had  two  souls.  One  of  them  is  dispossessed  of  its 
body  and  the  use  of  its  organs  and  is  frantic  at  the 
sight  of  the  other  that  has  crept  in." 

She  ended  her  rambling  story,  sobbing  the  ter- 
rible words,  "Oh — I  have  committed  the  unpardon- 
able sin — I  am  anathema. — I  am  damned — 
damned!" 

She  said  nothing  of  what  terrible  thing  she  had 
done  and  Kennedy,  for  the  present,  did  not  try  to 
lead  the  conversation.  But  of  all  the  stories  that 
I  have  heard  poured  forth  in  the  confessional  of 
the  detective's  office,  hers,  I  think,  was  the  wildest. 

Was  she  insane  ?  At  least  I  felt  that  she  was  sin- 
cere. Still,  I  wondered  what  sort  of  hallucination 
Craig  had  to  deal  with,  as  Veda  Blair  repeated  the 
incoherent  tale  of  her  spiritual  vagaries. 

Almost,  I  had  begun  to  fancy  that  this  was  a 
case  for  a  doctor,  not  for  a  detective,  when  sud- 
denly she  asked  a  most  peculiar  question. 

"Can  people  affect  you  for  good  or  evil,  merely 
by  thinking  about  you?"  she  queried.'  Then  a 
shudder  passed  over  her.  "They  may  be  thinking 
about  me  now !"  she  murmured  in  terror. 

Her  fear  was  so  real  and  her  physical  distress  so 
evident  that  Kennedy,  who  had  been  listening  si- 
lently for  the  most  part,  rose  and  hastened  to  reas- 
sure her. 

"Not  unless  you  make  your.own  fears  affect  your- 
self and  so  play  into  their  hands,"  he  said  earnestly. 

Veda  looked  at  him  a  moment,  then  shook  her 
head  mournfully.  "I  have  seen  Dr.  Vaughn,"  she 
said  slowly. 


THE  DEVIL  WORSHIPERS  229 

Dr.  Gilbert  Vaughn,  I  recollected,  was  a  well- 
known  alienist  in  the  city.  . 

"He  tried  to  tell  me  the  same  thing,"  she  resumed 
doubtfully.  "But — oh — I  know  what  I  know!  I 
have  felt  the  death  thought — and  he  knows  it!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  inquired  Kennedy,  lean- 
ing forward  keenly. 

"The  death  thought,"  she  repeated,  "a  malicious 
psychic  attack.  Some  one  is  driving  me  to  death  by 
it.  I  thought  I  could  fight  it  off.  I  went  away  to 
escape  it.  Now  I  have  come  back — and  I  have  not 
escaped.  There  is  always  that  disturbing  influence 
— always — directed  against  me.  I  know  it  will — 
kill  me-!" 

I  listened,  startled.  The  death  thought!  What 
did  it  mean?  What  terrible  power  was  it?  Was  it 
hypnotism?  What  was  this  fearsome,  cruel  belief, 
this  modern  witchcraft  that  could  unnerve  a  rich 
and  educated  woman?  Surely,  after  all,  I  felt  that 
this  was  not  a  case  for  a  doctor  alone;  it  called 
for  a  detective. 

"You  see,"  she  went  on,  heroically  trying  to  con- 
trol herself,  "I  have  always  been  interested  in  the 
mysterious,  the  strange,  the  occult.  In  fact  my 
father  and  my  husband's  father  met  through  their 
common  interest.  So,  you  see,  I  come  naturally 
by  it. 

"Not  long  ago  I  heard  of  Professor  and  Madame 
Rapport  and  their  new  Temple  of  the  Occult.  I 
went  to  it,  and  later  Seward  became  interested,  too. 
We  have  been  taken  into  a  sort  of  inner  circle,"  she 
continued  fearfully,  as  though  there  were  some  evil 
power  in  the  very  words  themselves,  "the  Red 
Lodge." 

"You  have  told  Dr.   Vaughn?"   shot  out  Ken- 


23o  THE  WAR  TERROR 

nedy  suddenly,  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  face  to  see  what 
it  would  betray. 

Veda  leaned  forward,  as  if  to  tell  a  secret,  then 
whispered  in  a  low  voice,  "He  knows.  Like  us — 
he — he  is  a — Devil  Worshiper!" 

"What?"  exclaimed  Kennedy  in  wide-eyed  aston- 
ishment. 

"A  Devil  Worshiper,"  she  repeated.  "You 
haven't  heard  of  the  Red  Lodge?" 

Kennedy  nodded  negatively.  "Could  you  get  us 
— initiated?"  he  hazarded. 

"P-perhaps,"  she  hesitated,  in  a  half-frightened 
tone.     "I — I'll  try  to  get  you  in  to-night." 

She  had  risen,  half  dazed,  as  if  her  own  temerity 
overwhelmed  her. 

"You — poor  girl,"  blurted  out  Kennedy,  his  sym- 
pathies getting  the  upper  hand  for  the  moment  as 
he  took  the  hand  she  extended  mutely.  "Trust  me. 
I  will  do  all  in  my  power,  all  in  the  power  of  modern 
science  to  help  you  fight  off  this — influence." 

There  must  have  been  something  magnetic,  hyp- 
notic in  his  eye. 

"I  will  stop  here  for  you,"  she  murmured,  as  she 
almost  fled  from  the  room. 

Personally,  I  cannot  say  that  I  liked  the  idea  of 
spying.  It  is  not  usually  clean  and  wholesome.  But 
I  realized  that  occasionally  it  was  necessary. 

"We  are  in  for  it  now,"  remarked  Kennedy  half 
humorously,  half  seriously,  "to  see  the  Devil  in  the 
twentieth  century." 

"And  I,"  I  added,  "I  am,  I  suppose,  to  be  the  re- 
porter to  Satan." 

We  said  nothing  more  about  it,  but  I  thought 
much  about  it,  and  the  more  I  thought,  the  more 
incomprehensible  the  thing  seemed.     I  had  heard 


THE  DEVIL  WORSHIPERS  231 

of  Devil  Worship,  but  had  always  associated  it  with 
far-off  Indian  and  other  heathen  lands — in  fact 
never  among  Caucasians  in  modern  times,  except 
possibly  in  Paris.  Was  there  such  a  cult  kere  in 
my  own  city?    I  felt  skeptical. 

That  night,  however,  promptly  at  the  appointed 
time,  a  cab  called  for  us,  and  in  it  was  Veda  Blair, 
nervous  but  determined. 

"Seward  has  gone  ahead,"  she  explained.  "I  told 
him  that  a  friend  had  introduced  you,  that  you  had 
studied  the  occult  abroad.  I  trust  you  to  carry  it 
out." 

Kennedy  reassured  her. 

The  curtains  were  drawn  and  we  could  see  noth- 
ing outside,  though  we  must  have  been  driven  sev- 
eral miles,  far  out  into  the  suburbs. 

At  last  the  cab  stopped.  As  we  left  it  we  could 
see  nothing  of  the  building,  for  the  cab  had  entered 
a  closed  courtyard. 

"Who  enters  the  Red  Lodge?"  challenged  a  sepul- 
chral voice  at  the  porte-cochere.  "Give  the  pass- 
word!" 

"The  Serpent's  Tooth,"  Veda  answered. 

"Who  are  these?"  asked  the  voice. 

"Neophytes,"  she  replied,  and  a  whispered  parley 
followed. 

"Then  enter !"  announced  the  voice  at  length. 

It  was  a  large  room  into  which  we  were  first 
ushered,  to  be  inducted  into  the  rites  of  Satan. 

There  seemed  to  be  both  men  and  women,  per- 
haps half  a  dozen  votaries.  Seward  Blair  was  al- 
ready present.  As  I  met  him,  I  did  not  like  the  look 
in  his  eye;  it  was  too  stary.  Dr.  Vaughn  was  there, 
too,  talking  in  a  low  tone  to  Madame  Rapport.  He 
shot  a  quick  look  at  us.    His  were  not  eyes  but  gim- 


232  THE  WAR  TERROR 

lets  that  tried  to  bore  into  your  very  soul.  Chat- 
ting with  Seward  Blair  was  a  Mrs.  Langhorne,  a 
very  beautiful  woman.  To-night  she  seemed  to  be 
unnaturally  excited. 

All  seemed  to  be  on  most  intimate  terms,  and,  as 
we  waited  a  few  minutes,  I  could  not  help  recalling 
a  sentence  from  Huysmans:  "The  worship  of  the 
Devil  is  no  more  insane  than  the  worship  of  God. 
The  worshipers  of  Satan  are  mystics — mystics  of 
an  unclean  sort,  it  is  true,  but  mystics  none  the  less." 

I  did  not  agree  with  it,  and  did  not  repeat  it,  of 
course,  but  a  moment  later  I  overheard  Dr.  Vaughn 
saying  to  Kennedy:  "Hoffman  brought  the  Devil 
into  modern  life.  Poe  forgoes  the  aid  of  demons 
and  works  patiently  and  precisely  by  the  scientific 
method.     But  the  result  is  the  same." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Kennedy  for  the  sake  of  appear- 
ances, "in  a  sense,  I  suppose,  we  are  all  devil  wor- 
shipers in  modern  society — always  have  been.  It 
is  fear  that  rules  and  we  fear  the  bad — not  the 
good." 

As  we  waited,  I  felt,  more  and  more,  the  sense 
of  the  mysterious,  the  secret,  the  unknown  which 
have  always  exercised  a  powerful  attraction  on  the 
human  mind.  Even  the  aeroplane  and  the  sub- 
marine, the  X-ray  and  wireless  have  not  banished 
the  occult. 

In  it,  I  felt,  there  was  fascination  for  the  frivolous 
and  deep  appeal  to  the  intellectual  and  spiritual. 
The  Temple  of  the  Occult  .had  evidently  been  de- 
signed to  appeal  to  both  types.  I  wondered  how, 
like  Lucifer,  it  had  fallen.  The  prime  requisite,  I 
could  guess  already,  however,  was — money.  Was 
it  in  its  worship  of  the  root  of  all  evil  that  it  had 
fallen? 


THE  DEVIL  WORSHIPERS  233 

We  passed  soon  into  another  room,  hung  entirely 
in  red,  with  weird,  cabalistic  signs  all  about,  on  the 
walls.     It  was  uncanny,  creepy. 

A  huge  reproduction  in  plaster  of  one  of  the  most 
sardonic  of  Notre  Dame's  gargoyles  seemed  to  pre- 
side over  everything — a  terrible  figure  in  such  an 
atmosphere. 

As  we  entered,  we  were  struck  by  the  blinding 
glare  of  the  light,  in  contrast  with  the  darkened 
room  in  which  we  had  passed  our  brief  novitiate,  if 
it  might  be  called  such. 

Suddenly  the  lights  were  extinguished. 

The  great  gargoyle  shone  with  an  infernal  light  of 
its  own! 

"Phosphorescent  paint,"  whispered  Kennedy  to 
me. 

Still,  it  did  not  detract  from  the  weird  effect  to 
know  what  caused  it. 

There  was  a  startling  noise  in  the  general  hush. 

"Sata !"  cried  one  of  the  devotees. 

A  door  opened  and  there  appeared  the  veritable 
priest  of  the  Devil — pale  of  face,  nose  sharp,  mouth 
bitter,  eyes  glassy. 

"That  is  Rapport,"  Vaughn  whispered  to  me. 

The  worshipers  crowded  forward. 

Without  a  word,  he  raised  his  long,  lean  fore- 
finger and  began  to  single  them  out  impressively. 
As  he  did  so,  each  spoke,  as  if  imploring  aid. 

He  came  to  Mrs.  Langhorne. 

"I  have  tried  the  charm,"  she  cried  earnestly, 
"and  the  one  whom  I  love  still  hates  me,  while  the 
one  I  hate  loves  me!" 

"Concentrate!"  replied  the  priest,  "concentrate! 
Think  always  'I  love  him.  He  must  love  me.  I 
want  him  to  love  me.     I  love  him.     He  must  love 

16 


234  THE  WAR  TERROR 

me.'  Over  and  over  again  you  must  think  it.  Then 
the  other  side,  'I  hate  him.  He  must  leave  me.  I 
want  him  to  leave  me.     I  hate  him — hate  him.'  " 

Around  the  circle  he  went. 

At  last  his  lean  finger  was  outstretched  at  Veda. 
It  seemed  as  if  some  imp  of  the  perverse  were  com- 
pelling her  unwilling  tongue  to  unlock  its  secrets. 

"Sometimes,"  she  cried  in  a  low,  tremulous  voice, 
"something  seems  to  seize  me,  as  if  by  the  hand 
and  urge  me  onward.    I  canot  flee  from  it." 

"Defend  yourself!"  answered  the  priest  subtly. 
"When  you  know  that  some  one  is  trying  to  kill  you 
mentally,  defend  yourself!  Work  against  it  by 
every  means  in  your  power.  Discourage!  Intimi- 
date!   Destroy!" 

I  marveled  at  these  cryptic  utterances.  They 
shadowed  a  modern  Black  Art,  of  which  I  had  had 
no  conception — a  recrudescence  in  other  language  of 
the  age-old  dualism  of  good  and  evil.  It  was  a  sort 
of  mental  malpractice. 

"Over  and  over  again,"  he  went  on  speaking  to 
her,  "the  same  thought  is  to  be  repeated  against  an 
enemy.  'You  know  you  are  going  to  die!  You 
know  you  are  going  to  die!'  Do  it  an  hour,  two 
hours,  at  a  time.  Others  can  help  you,  all  thinking 
in  unison  the  same  thought." 

What  was  this,  I  asked  myself  breathlessly — a 
new  transcendental  toxicology? 

Slowly,  a  strange  mephitic  vapor  seemed  to  ex- 
hale into  the  room — or  was  it  my  heightened  im- 
agination? 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

THE  PSYCHIC  CURSE 

There  came  a  sudden  noise — nameless — striking 
terror,  low,  rattling.  I  stood  rooted  to  the  spot. 
What  was  it  that  held  me  ?  Was  it  an  atavistic  joy 
in  the  horrible  or  was  it  merely  a  blasphemous  curi- 
osity? 

I  scarcely  dared  to  look. 

At  last  I  raised  my  eyes.  There  was  a  live  snake, 
upraised,  his  fangs  striking  out  viciously — a  rattler ! 

I  would  have  drawn  back  and  fled,  but  Craig 
caught  my  arm. 

"Caged,"  he  whispered  monosyllabically. 

I  shuddered.  This,  at  least,  was  no  drawing- 
room  diablerie. 

"It  is  Ophis,"  intoned  Rapport,  "the  Serpent — 
the  one  active  form  in  Nature  that  cannot  be  un- 
graceful!" 

The  appearance  of  the  basilisk  seemed  to  heighten 
the  tension. 

At  last  it  broke  loose  and  then  followed  the  most 
terrible  blasphemies.  The  disciples,  now  all  fren- 
zied, surrounded  closer  the  priest,  the  gargoyle  and 
the  serpent. 

They  worshiped  with  howls  and  obscenities.  Mad 
laughter  mingled  with  pale  fear  and  wild  scorn  in 
turns  were  written  on  the  hectic  faces  about  me. 

They  had  risen — it  became  a  dance,  a  reel. 

235 


236  THE  WAR  TERROR 

The  votaries  seemed  to  spin  about  on  their  axes, 
as  it  were,  uttering  a  low,  moaning  chant  as  they 
whirled.  It  was  a  mania,  the  spirit  of  demonism. 
Something  unseen  seemed  to  urge  them  on. 

Disgusted  and  stifled  at  the  surcharged  atmos- 
phere, I  would  have  tried  to  leave,  but  I  seemed 
frozen  to  the  spot.  I  could  think  of  nothing  except 
Poe's  Masque  of  the  Red  Death. 

Above  all  the  rest  whirled  Seward  Blair  him- 
self. The  laugh  of  the  fiend,  for  the  moment,  was 
in  his  mouth.  An  instant  he  stood — the  oracle  of 
the  Demon — devil-possessed.  Around  whirled  the 
frantic  devotees,  howling. 

Shrilly  he  cried,  "The  Devil  is  in  me !" 

Forward  staggered  the  devil  dancer — tall,  hag- 
gard, with  deep  sunken  eyes  and  matted  hair,  face 
now  smeared  with  dirt  and  blood-red  with  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  strange,  unearthly  phosphorescence. 

He  reeled  slowly  through  the  crowd,  crooning  a 
quatrain,  in  a  low,  monotonous  voice,  his  eyelids 
drooping  and  his  head  forward  on  his  breast: 

If  the  Red  Slayer  think  he  slays, 

Or  the  slain  think  he  is  slain, 
They  know  not  well  the  subtle  ways 

I  keep  and  pass  and  turn  again ! 

Entranced  the  whirling  crowd  paused  and 
watched.  One  of  their  number  had  received  the 
"power." 

He  was  swaying  slowly  to  and  fro. 

"Look!"  whispered  Kennedy. 

His  fingers  twitched,  his  head  wagged  uncannily. 
Perspiration  seemed  to  ooze  from  every  porer  His 
breast  heaved. 


THE  PSYCHIC  CURSE  237 

He  gave  a  sudden  yell — ear-piercing.  Then  fol- 
lowed a  screech  of  hellish  laughter. 

The  dance  had  ended,  the  dancers  spellbound  at 
the  sight. 

He  was  whirling  slowly,  eyes  protruding  now, 
mouth  foaming,  chest  rising  and  falling  like  a  bel- 
lows, muscles  quivering. 

Cries,  vows,  imprecations,  prayers,  all  blended  in 
an  infernal  hubbub. 

With  a  burst  of  ghastly,  guttural  laughter,  he 
shrieked,  "I  am  the  Devil  1" 

His  arms  waved — cutting,  sawing,  hacking  the 
air. 

The  votaries,  trembling,  scarcely  moved,  breathed, 
as  he  danced. 

Suddenly  he  gave  a  great  leap  into  the  air — then 
fell,  motionless.  They  crowded  around  him.  The 
fiendish  look  was  gone — the  demoniac  laughter 
stilled. 

It  was  over. 

The  tension  of  the  orgy  had  been  too  much  for 
us.  We  parted,  with  scarcely  a  word,  and  yet  I 
could  feel  that  among  the  rest  there  was  a  sort  of 
unholy  companionship.  \ 

Silently,  Kennedy  and  I  drove  away  in  the  dark- 
ened cab,  this  time  with  Seward  and  Veda  Blair  and 
Mrs.  Langhorne. 

For  several  minutes  not  a  word  was  said.  I  was, 
however,  much  occupied  in  watching  the  two  women. 
It  was  not  because  of  anything  they  said  or  did. 
That  was  not  necessary.  But  I  felt  that  there  was  a 
feud,  something  that  set  them  against  each  other. 

"How  would  Rapport  use  the  death  thought,  I 
wonder?"  asked  Craig  speculatively,  breaking  the 
silence. 


238  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Blair  answered  quickly.  "Suppose  some  one  tried 
to  break  away,  to  renounce  the  Lodge,  expose  its 
secrets.  They  would  treat  him  so  as  to  make  him 
harmless — perhaps  insane,  confused,  afraid  to  talk, 
paralyzed,  or  even  to  commit  suicide  or  be  killed  in 
an  accident.  They  would  put  the  death  thought  on 
him!" 

Even  in  the  prosaic  jolting  of  the  cab,  away  from 
the  terrible  mysteries  of  the  Red  Lodge,  one  could 
feel  the  spell. 

The  cab  stopped.  Seward  was  on  his  feet  in  a 
moment  and  handing  Mrs.  Langhorne  out  at  her 
home.  For  a  moment  they  paused  on  the  steps  for 
an  exchange  of  words. 

In  that  moment  I  caught  flitting  over  the  face  of 
Veda  a  look  of  hatred,  more  intense,  more  real, 
more  awful  than  any  that  had  been  induced  under 
the  mysteries  of  the  rites  at  the  Lodge. 

It  was  gone  in  an  instant,  and  as  Seward  rejoined 
us  I  felt  that,  with  Mrs.  Langhorne  gone,  there 
was  less  restraint.  I  wondered  whether  it  was  she 
who  had  inspired  the  fear  in  Veda. 

Although  it  was  more  comfortable,  the  rest  of 
our  journey  was  made  in  silence  and  the  Blairs 
dropped  us  at  our  apartment  with  many  expressions 
of  cordiality  as  we  left  them  to  proceed  to  their 
own. 

"Of  one  thing  I'm  sure,"  I  remarked,  entering 
the  room  where  only  a  few  short  hours  before  Mrs. 
Blair  had  related  her  strange  tale.  "Whatever  the 
cause  of  it,  the  devil  dancers  don't  sham." 

Kennedy  did  not  reply.  He  was  apparently 
wrapped  up  in  the  consideration  of  the  remarkable 
events  of  the  evening. 

As  for  myself,  it  was  a  state  of  affairs  which,  the 


THE  PSYCHIC  CURSE  239 

day  before,  I  should  have  pronounced  utterly  be- 
yond the  wildest  bounds  of  the  imagination  of  the 
most  colorful  writer.    Yet  here  it  was ;  I  had  seen  it. 

I  glanced  up  to  find  Kennedy  standing  by  the 
light  examining  something  he  had  apparently  picked 
up  at  the  Red  Lodge.  I  bent  over  to  look  at  it, 
too.    It  was  a  little  glass  tube. 

"An  ampoule,  I  believe  the  technical  name  of  such 
a  container  is,"  he  remarked,  holding  it  closer  to  the 
light. 

In  it  were  the  remains  of  a  dried  yellow  sub- 
stance, broken  up  minutely,  resembling  crystals. 

"Who  dropped  it?"  I  asked. 

"Vaughn,  I  think,"  he  replied.  "At  least,  I  saw 
him  near  Blair,  stooping  over  him,  at  the  end,  and 
I  imagine  this  is  what  I  saw  gleaming  for  an  instant 
in  the  light." 

Kennedy  said  nothing  more,  and  for  my  part  I 
was  thoroughly  at  sea  and  could  make  nothing  out 
of  it  all. 

"What  object  can  such  a  man  as  Dr.  Vaughn  pos- 
sibly have  in  frequenting  such  a  place?"  I  asked  at 
length,  adding,  "And  there's  that  Mrs.  Langhorne 
— she  was  interesting,  too." 

Kennedy  made  no  direct  reply.  "I  shall  have 
them  shadowed  to-morrow,"  he  said  briefly,  "while 
I  am  at  work  in  the  laboratory  over  this  ampoule." 

As  usual,  also,  Craig  had  begun  on  his  scientific 
studies  long  before  I  was  able  to  shake  myself  loose 
from  the  nightmares  that  haunted  me  after  our 
weird  experience  of  the  evening. 

He  had  already  given  the  order  to  an  agency  for 
the  shadowing,  and  his  next  move  was  to  start  me 
out,  also,  looking  into  the  history  of  those  con- 
cerned in  the  case.     As  far  as  I  was  able  to  deter- 


24o  THE  WAR  TERROR 

mine,  Dr.  Vaughn  had  an  excellent  reputation,  and 
I  could  find  no  reason  whatever  for  his  connection 
with  anything  of  the  nature  of  the  Red  Lodge.  The 
Rapports  seemed  to  be  nearly  unknown  in  New 
York,  although  it  was  reported  that  they  had  come 
from  Paris  lately.  Mrs.  Langhorne  was  a  di- 
vorcee from  one  of  the  western  states,  but  little  was 
known  about  her,  except  that  she  always  seemed  to 
be  well  supplied  with  money.  It  seemed  to  be  well 
known  in  the  circle  in  which  Seward  Blair  moved 
that  he  was  friendly  with  her,  and  I  had  about 
reached  the  conclusion  that  she  was  unscrupulously 
making  use  of  his  friendship,  perhaps  was  not  above 
such  a  thing  as  blackmail. 

Thus  the  day  passed,  and  we  heard  no  word 
from  Veda  Blair,  although  that  was  explained  by 
the  shadows,  whose  trails  crossed  in  a  most  unex- 
pected manner.  Their  reports  showed  that  there 
was  a  meeting  at  the  Red  Lodge  during  the  late 
afternoon,  at  which  all  had  been  present  except  Dr. 
Vaughn.  We  learned  also  from  them  the  exact 
location  of  the  Lodge,  in  an  old  house  just  across 
the  line  in  Westchester. 

It  was  evidently  a  long  and  troublesome  analysis 
that  Craig  was  engaged  in  at  the  laboratory,  for  it 
was  some  hours  after  dinner  that  night  when  he 
came  into  the  apartment,  and  even  then  he  said 
nothing,  but  buried  himself  in  some  of  the  technical 
works  with  which  his  library  was  stocked.  He  said 
little,  but  I  gathered  that  he  was  in  great  doubt 
about  something,  perhaps,  as  much  as  anything, 
about  how  to  proceed  with  so  peculiar  a  case. 

It  was  growing  late,  and  Kennedy  was  still  steeped 
in  his  books,  when  the  door  of  the  apartment,  which 
we  happened  to  have  left  unlocked,  was  suddenly 


THE  PSYCHIC  CURSE  241 

thrown  open  and  Seward  Blair  burst  in  on  us,  wildly 
excited. 

"Veda  is  gone!"  he  cried,  before  either  of  us 
could  ask  him  what  was  the  matter. 

"Gone?"  repeated  Kennedy.     "How — where?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Blair  blurted  out  breathlessly. 
"We  had  been  out  together  this  afternoon,  and  I 
returned  with  her.  Then  I  went  out  to  the  club 
after  dinner  for  a  while,  and  when  I  got  back  I 
missed  her — not  quarter  of  an  hour  ago.  I  burst 
into  her  room — and  there  I  found  this  note.  Read 
it.  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  No  one  seems  to 
know  what  has  become  of  her.  I've  called  up  all 
over  and  then  thought  perhaps  you  might  help  me, 
might  know  some  friend  of  hers  that  I  don't  know, 
with  whom  she  might  have  gone  out." 

Blair  was  plainly  eager  for  us  to  help  him.  Ken- 
nedy took  the  paper  from  him.  On  it,  in  a  trem- 
bling hand,  were  scrawled  some  words,  evidently  ad- 
dressed to  Blair  himself: 

"You  would  forgive  me  and  pity  me  if  you  knew 
what  I  have  been  through. 

"When  I  refused  to  yield  my  will  to  the  will  of 
the  Lodge  I  suppose  I  aroused  the  enmity  of  the 
Lodge. 

"To-night  as  I  lay  in  bed,  alone,  I  felt  that  my 
hour  had  come,  that  mental  forces  that  were  almost 
irresistible  were  being  directed  against  me. 

"I  realized  that  I  must  fight  not  only  for  my 
sanity  but  for  my  life. 

"For  hours  I  have  fought  that  fight. 

"But  during  those  hours,  some  one,  I  won't  say 
who,  seemed  to  have  developed  such  psychic  facul- 
ties of  penetration  that  they  were  able  to  make  their 
bodies  pass  through  the  walls  of  my  room. 


242  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"At  last  I  am  conquered.     I  pray  that  you " 

The  writing  broke  off  abruptly,  as  if  she  had  left 
it  in  wild  flight. 

"What  does  that  mean?"  asked  Kennedy,  "the 
'will  of  the  Lodge'?" 

Blair  looked  at  us  keenly.  I  fancied  that  there  was 
even  something  accusatory  in  the  look.  "Perhaps  it 
was  some  mental  reservation  on  her  part,"  he  sug- 
gested. "You  do  not  know  yourself  of  any  reason 
why  she  should  fear  anything,  do  you?"  he  asked 
pointedly. 

Kennedy  did  not  betray  even  by  the  motion  of  an 
eyelash  that  we  knew  more  than  we  should  ostensi- 
bly. 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door.  I  sprang  to  open 
it,  thinking  perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  Veda  herself. 

Instead,  a  man,  a  stranger,  stood  there. 

"Is  this  Professor  Kennedy?"  he  asked^  touching 
his  hat. 

Craig  nodded. 

"I  am  from  the  psychopathic  ward  of  the  City 
Hospital — an  orderly,  sir,"  the  man  introduced. 

"Yes,"  encouraged  Craig,  "what  can  I  do  for 
you?" 

"A  Mrs.  Blair  has  just  been  brought  in,  sir,  and 
we  can't  find  her  husband.  She's  calling  for  you 
now." 

Kennedy  stared  from  the  orderly  to  Seward  Blair, 
startled,  speechless. 

"What  has  happened?"  asked  Blair  anxiously. 
"I  am  Mr.  Blair." 

The  orderly  shook  his  head.  He  had  delivered 
his  message.    That  was  all  he  knew. 

"What  do  you  suppose  it  is?"  I  asked,  as  we  sped 


THE  PSYCHIC  CURSE  243 

across  town  in  a  taxicab.  "Is  it  the  curse  that  she 
dreaded?" 

Kennedy  said  nothing  and  Blair  appeared  to  hear 
nothing.     His  face  was  drawn  in  tense  lines. 

The  psychopathic  ward  is  at  once  one  of  the  most 
interesting  and  one  of  the  most  depressing  depart- 
ments of  a  large  city  hospital,  harboring,  as  it  does, 
all  from  the  more  or  less  harmless  insane  to  violent 
alcoholics  and  wrecked  drug  fiends. 

Mrs.  Blair,  we  learned,  had  been  found  hatless, 
without  money,  dazed,  having  fallen,  after  an  ap- 
parently aimless  wandering  in  the  streets. 

For  the  moment  she  lay  exhausted  on  the  white 
bed  of  the  ward,  eyes  glazed,  pupils  contracted,  pulse 
now  quick,  now  almost  evanescent,  face  drawn,, 
breathing  difficult,  moaning  now  and  then  in  physical 
and  mental  agony. 

Until  she  spoke  it  was  impossible  to  tell  what  had 
happened,  but  the  ambulance  surgeon  had  found  a 
little  red  mark  on  her  white  forearm  and  had 
pointed  it  out,  evidently  with  the  idea  that  she  was 
suffering  from  a  drug. 

At  the  mere  sight  of  the  mark,  Blair  stared  as 
though  hypnotized.  Leaning  over  to  Kennedy,  so 
that  the  others  could  not  hear,  he  whispered,  "It  is 
the  mark  of  the  serpent!" 

Our  arrival  had  been  announced  to  the  hospital 
physician,  who  entered  and  stood  for  a  moment  look- 
ing at  the  patient. 

"I  think  it  is  a  drug — a  poison,"  he  said  medita- 
tively. 

"You  haven't  found  out  yet  what  is  is,  then?" 
asked  Craig. 

The  physician  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "What- 
ever it  is,"  he  said  slowly,  "it  is  closely  allied  to  the 


244  THE  WAR  TERROR 

cyanide  groups  in  its  rapacious  activity.  I  haven't 
the  slightest  idea  of  its  true  nature,  but  it  seems  to 
have  a  powerful  affinity  for  important  nerve  centers 
of  respiration  and  muscular  coordination,  as  well  as 
for  disorganizing  the  blood.  I  should  say  that  it 
produces  death  by  respiratory  paralysis  and  convul- 
sions. To  my  mind  it  is  an  exact,  though  perhaps 
less  active,  counterpart  of  hydrocyanic  acid." 

Kennedy  had  been  listening  intently  at  the  start, 
but  before  the  physician  had  finished  he  had  bent 
over  and  made  a  ligature  quickly  with  his  handker- 
chief. 

Then  he  dispatched  a  messenger  with  a  note. 
Next  he  cut  about  the  minute  wound  on  her  arm 
until  the  blood  flowed,  cupping  it  to  increase  the 
flow.  Now  and  then  he  had  them  administer  a  little 
stimulant. 

He  had  worked  rapidly,  while  Blair  watched  him 
with  a  sort  of  fascination. 

"Get  Dr.  Vaughn,"  ordered  Craig,  as  soon  as  he 
had  a  breathing  spell  after  his  quick  work,  adding, 
"and  Professor  and  Madame  Rapport.  Walter,  at- 
tend to  that,  will  you  ?  I  think  you  will  find  an  offi- 
cer outside.  You'll  have  to  compel  them  to  come, 
if  they  won't  come  otherwise,"  he  added,  giving  the 
address  of  the  Lodge,  as  we  had  found  it. 

Blair  shot  a  quick  look  at  him,  as  though  Craig  in 
his  knowledge  were  uncanny.  Apparently,  the  ad- 
dress had  been  a  secret  which  he  thought  we  did 
not  know. 

I  managed  to  find  an  officer  and  dispatch  him  for 
the  Rapports.  A  hospital  orderly,  I  thought,  would 
serve  to  get  Dr.  Vaughn. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

THE  SERPENT'S  TOOTH 

I  had  scarcely  returned  to  the  ward  when,  sud- 
denly, an  unnatural  strength  seemed  to  be  infused 
into  Veda. 

She  had  risen  in  bed. 

"It  shall  not  catch  me!"  she  cried  in  a  new 
paroxysm  of  nameless  terror.  "No — no — it  is  pur- 
suing me.  I  am  never  out  of  its  grasp.  I  have  been 
thought  six  feet  underground — I  know  it.  There  it 
is  again — still  driving  me — still  driving  me ! 

"Will  it  never  stop ?  Will  no  one  stop  it?  Save 
me!     It — is  the  death  thought!" 

She  had  risen  convulsively  and  had  drawn  back 
in  abject,  cowering  terror.  What  was  it  she  saw? 
Evidently  it  was  very  real  and  very  awful.  It  pur- 
sued her  relentlessly. 

As  she  lay  there,  rolling  her  eyes  about,  she 
caught  sight  of  us  and  recognized  us  for  the  first 
time,  although  she  had  been  calling  for  us. 

"They  had  the  thought  on  you,  too,  Professor 
Kennedy,"  she  almost  screamed.  "Hour  after  hour, 
Rapport  and  the  rest  repeated  over  and  over  again, 
'Why  does  not  some  one  kill  him?  Why  does  he 
not  die?'  They  knew  you — even  when  I  brought 
you  to  the  Red  Lodge.  They  thought  you  were  a 
spy." 

I  turned  to  Kennedy.  He  had  advanced  and  was 
^45 


246  THE  WAR  TERROR 

leaning  over  to  catch  every  word.  Blair  was  stand- 
ing behind  me  and  she  had  not  seen  her  husband 
yet.  A  quick  glance  showed  me  that  he  was  trem- 
bling from  head  to  foot  like  a  leaf,  as  though  he, 
too,  were  pursued  by  the  nameless  terror. 

"What  did  they  do?"  Kennedy  asked  in  a  low 
tone. 

Fearfully,  gripping  the  bars  of  the  iron  bed,  as 
though  they  were  some  tangible  support  for  her 
mind,  she  answered:  "They  would  get  together. 
'Now,  all  of  you,'  they  said,  'unite  yourselves  in 
thought  against  our  enemy,  against  Kennedy,  that 
he  must  leave  off  persecuting  us.  He  is  ripe  for 
destruction!'  " 

Kennedy  glanced  sidewise  at  me,  with  a  signifi- 
cant look. 

"God  grant,"  she  implored,  "that  none  haunt  me 
for  what  I  have  done  in  my  ignorance !" 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  my  messenger  en- 
tered, accompanied  by  Dr.  Vaughn. 

I  had  turned  to  catch  the  expression  on  Blair's 
face  just  in  time.     It  was  a  look  of  abject  appeal. 

Before  Dr.  Vaughn  could  ask  a  question,  or  fairly 
take  in  the  situation,  Kennedy  had  faced  him. 

"What  was  the  purpose  of  all  that  elaborate 
mummery  out  at  the  Red  Lodge?"  asked  Kennedy 
pointblank. 

I  think  I  looked  at  Craig  in  no  less  amazement 
than  Vaughn.  In  spite  of  the  dramatic  scenes 
through  which  we  had  passed,  the  spell  of  the  oc- 
cult had  not  fallen  on  him  for  an  instant. 

"Mummery?"  repeated  Dr.  Vaughn,  bending  his 
penetrating  eyes  on  Kennedy,  as  if  he  would  force 
him  to  betray  himself  first. 

"Yes,"  reiterated  Craig.     "You  know  as  well  as 


THE  SERPENT'S  TOOTH  247 

I  do  that  it  has  been  said  that  it  is  a  well-established 
fact  that  the  world  wants  to  be  deceived  and  is  will- 
ing to  pay  for  the  privilege." 

Dr.  Vaughn  still  gazed  from  one  to  the  other  of 
us  defiantly. 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  persisted  Kennedy, 
"the  mumbo-jumbo — just  as  the  Haitian  obi  man 
sticks  pins  in  a  doll  or  melts  a  wax  figure  of  his 
enemy.  That  is  supposed  to  be  an  outward  sign. 
But  back  of  this  terrible  power  that  people  believe 
moves  in  darkness  and  mystery  is  something  tangi- 
ble— something  real." 

Dr.  Vaughn  looked  up  sharply  at  him,  I  think 
mistaking  Kennedy's  meaning.  If  he  did,  all  doubt 
that  Kennedy  attributed  anything  to  the  supernatural 
was  removed  as  he  went  on:  "At  first  I  had  no  ex- 
planation of  the  curious  events  I  have  just  witnessed, 
and  the  more  I  thought  about  them,  the  more  ob- 
scure did  they  seem. 

"I  have  tried  to  reason  the  thing  out,"  he  con- 
tinued thoughtfully.  "Did  auto-suggestion,  self- 
hypnotism  explain  what  I  have  seen?  Has  Veda 
Blair  been  driven  almost  to  death  by  her  own  fears 
only?" 

No  one  interrupted  and  he  answered  his  own 
question.  "Somehow  the  idea  that  it  was  purely 
fear  that  had  driven  her  on  did  not  satisfy  me.  As 
I  said,  I  wanted  something  more  tangible.  I  could 
not  help  thinking  that  it  was  not  merely  subjective. 
There  was  something  objective,  some  force  at  work, 
something  more  than  psychic  in  the  result  achieved 
by  this  criminal  mental  marauder,  whoever  it  is." 

I  was  following  Kennedy's  reasoning  now  closely. 
As  he  proceeded,  the  point  that  he  was  making 
seemed  more  clear  to  me. 


248  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Persons  of  a  certain  type  of  mind  could  be  really 
mentally  unbalanced  by  such  methods  which  we 
had  heard  outlined,  where  the  mere  fact  of  another 
trying  to  exert  power  over  them  became  known  to 
them.  They  would,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  unbalance 
themselves,  thinking  about  and  fighting  off  imaginary 
terrors. 

Such  people,  I  could  readily  see,  might  be  quickly 
controlled,  and  in  the  wake  of  such  control  would 
follow  stifled  love,  wrecked  homes,  ruined  fortunes, 
suicide  and  even  death. 

Dr.  Vaughn  leaned  forward  critically.  "What 
did  you  conclude,  then,  was  the  explanation  of  what 
you  saw  last  night?"  he  asked  sharply. 

Kennedy  met  his  question  squarely,  without  flinch- 
ing. "It  looks  to  me,"  he  replied  quietly,  "like  a 
sort  of  hystero-epilepsy.  It  is  well  known,  I  be- 
lieve, to  demonologists — those  who  have  studied  this 
sort  of  thing.  They  have  recognized  the  contortions, 
the  screams,  the  wild,  blasphemous  talk,  the  cata- 
leptic rigidity.     They  are  epileptiform." 

Vaughn  said  nothing,  but  continued  to  weigh  Ken- 
nedy as  if  in  a  balance.  I,  who  knew  him,  knew  that 
it  would  take  a  greater  than  Vaughn  to  find  him 
wanting,  once  Kennedy  chose  to  speak.  As  for 
Vaughn,  was  he  trying  to  hide  behind  some  techni- 
cality in  medical  ethics? 

"Dr.  Vaughn,"  continued  Craig,  as  if  goading 
him  to  the  point  of  breaking  down  his  calm  silence, 
"you  are  specialist  enough  to  know  these  things  as 
well,  better  than  I  do.  You  must  know  that  epi- 
lepsy is  one  of  the  most  peculiar  diseases. 

"The  victim  may  be  in  good  physical  condition, 
apparently.  In  fact,  some  hardly  know  that  they 
have  it.     But  it  is  something  more  than  merely  the 


THE  SERPENT'S  TOOTH  249 

fits.  Always  there  is  something  wrong  mentally.  It 
is  not  the  motor  disturbance  so  much  as  the  dis- 
turbance of  consciousness." 

Kennedy  was  talking  slowly,  deliberately,  so  that 
none  could  drop  a  link  in  the  reasoning. 

"Perhaps  one  in  ten  epileptics  has  insane  periods, 
more  or  less,"  he  went  on,  "and  there  is  no  more 
dangerous  form  of  insanity.  Self-consciousness  is 
lost,  and  in  this  state  of  automatism  the  worst  of 
crimes  have  been  committed  without  the  subsequent 
knowledge  of  the  patient.  In  that  state  they  are  no 
more  responsible  than  are  the  actors  in  one's 
dreams." 

The  hospital  physician  entered,  accompanied  by 
Craig's  messenger,  breathless.  Craig  almost  seized 
the  package  from  his  hands  and  broke  the  seal. 

"Ah — this  is  what  I  wanted,"  he  exclaimed,  with 
an  air  of  relief,  forgetting  for  the  time  the  exposi- 
tion of  the  case  that  he  was  engaged  in.  "Here  I 
have  some  anti-crotalus  venine,  of  Drs.  Flexner  and 
Noguchi.  Fortunately,  in  the  city  it  is  within  easy 
reach." 

Quickly,  with  the  aid  of  the  physician  he  injected 
it  into  Veda's  arm. 

"Of  all  substances  in  nature,"  he  remarked,  still 
at  work  over  the  unfortunate  woman,  "none  is  so 
little  known  as  the  venom  of  serpents." 

It  was  a  startling  idea  which  the  sentence  had 
raised  in  my  mind.  All  at  once  I  recalled  the  first 
remark  of  Seward  Blair,  in  which  he  had  repeated 
the  password  that  had  admitted  us  into  the  Red 
Lodge — "the  Serpent's  Tooth."  Could  it  have  been 
that  she  had  really  been  bitten  at  some  of  the  orgies 
by  the  serpent  which  they  worshiped  hideously  hiss- 
ing in  its  cage?    I  was  sure  that,  at  least  until  they 

17 


250  THE  WAR  TERROR 

were  compelled,  none  would  say  anything  about  it. 
Was  that  the  interpretation  of  the  almost  hynotized 
look  on  Blair's  face? 

"We  know  next  to  nothing  of  the  composition  of 
the  protein  bodies  in  the  venoms  which  have  such 
terrific,  quick  physiological  effects,"  Kennedy  was 
saying.  "They  have  been  studied,  it  is  true,  but  we 
cannot  really  say  that  they  are  understood — or  even 
that  there  are  any  adequate  tests  by  which  they  can 
be  recognized.  The  fact  is,  that  snake  venoms  are 
about  the  safest  of  poisons  for  the  criminal." 

Kennedy  had  scarcely  propounded  this  startling 
idea  when  a  car  was  heard  outside.  The  Rapports 
had  arrived,  with  the  officer  I  had  sent  after  them, 
protesting  and  threatening. 

They  quieted  down  a  bit  as  they  entered,  and  after 
a  quick  glance  around  saw  who  was  present. 

Professor  Rapport  gave  one  glance  at  the  victim 
lying  exhausted  on  the  bed,  then  drew  back,  melo- 
dramatically, and  cried,  "The  Serpent — the  mark  of 
the  serpent!" 

For  a  moment  Kennedy  gazed  full  in  the  eyes  of 
them  all. 

"Was  it  a  snake  bite?"  he  asked  slowly,  then, 
turning  to  Mrs.  Blair,  after  a  quick  glance,  he  went 
on  rapidly,  "The  first  thing  to  ascertain  is  whether 
the  mark  consists  of  two  isolated  punctures,  from 
the  poison-conducting  teeth  or  fangs  of  the  snake, 
which  are  constructed  like  a  hypodermic  needle." 

The  hospital  physician  had  bent  over  her  at  the 
words,  and  before  Kennedy  could  go  on  interrupted: 
"This  was  not  a  snake  bite;  it  was  more  likely  from 
an  all-glass  hypodermic  syringe  with  a  platinum- 
iridium  needle." 

Professor  Rapport,  priest  of  the  Devil,  advanced 


THE  SERPENT'S  TOOTH  251 

a  step  menacingly  toward  Kennedy.  "Remember," 
he  said  in  a  low,  angry  tone,  "remember — you  are 
pledged  to  keep  the  secrets  of  the  Red  Lodge!" 

Craig  brushed  aside  the  sophistry  with  a  sentence. 
"I  do  not  recognize  any  secrets  that  I  have  to  keep 
about  the  meeting  this  afternon  to  which  you  sum- 
moned the  Blairs  and  Mrs.  Langhorne,  according 
to  reports  from  the  shadows  I  had  placed  on  Mrs. 
Langhorne  and  Dr.  Vaughn." 

If  there  is  such  a  thing  as  the  evil  eye,  Rapport's 
must  have  been  a  pair  of  them,  as  he  realized  that 
Kennedy  had  resorted  to  the  simple  devices  of  shad- 
owing the  devotees. 

A  cry,  almost  a  shriek,  startled  us.  Kennedy's 
encounter  with  Rapport  had  had  an  effect  which 
none  of  us  had  considered.  The  step  or  two  in  ad- 
vance which  the  prophet  had  taken  had  brought  him 
into  the  line  of  vision  of  the  still  half-stupefied  Veda 
lying  back  of  Kennedy  on  the  hospital  cot. 

The  mere  sight  of  him,  the  sound  of  his  voice  and 
the  mention  of  the  Red  Lodge  had  been  sufficient 
to  penetrate  that  stupor.  She  was  sitting  bolt  up- 
right, a  ghastly,  trembling  specter.  Slowly  a  smile 
seemed  to  creep  over  the  cruel  face  of  the  mystic. 
Was  it  not  a  recognition  of  his  hypnotic  power? 

Kennedy  turned  and  laid  a  gentle  hand  on  the 
quaking  convulsed  figure  of  the  woman.  One  could 
feel  the  electric  tension  in  the  air,  the  battle  of  two 
powers  for  good  or  evil.  Which  would  win — the 
old  fascination  of  the  occult  or  the  new  power  of 
science  ? 

It  was  a  dramatic  moment.  Yet  not  so  dramatic 
as  the  outcome.    To  my  surprise,  neither  won. 

Suddenly  she  caught  sight  of  her  husband.     Her 


252  THE  WAR  TERROR 

face  changed.  All  the  prehistoric  jealousy  of  which 
woman  is  capable  seemed  to  blaze  forth. 

"I  will  defend  myself!"  she  cried.  "I  will  fight 
back!  She  shall  not  win — she  shall  not  have  you — 
no— she  shall  not — never!" 

I  recalled  the  strained  feeling  between  the  two 
women  that  I  had  noticed  in  the  cab.  Was  it  Mrs. 
Langhorne  who  had  been  the  disturbing  influence, 
whose  power  she  feared,  over  herself  and  over  her 
husband? 

Rapport  had  fallen  back  a  step,  but  not  from  the 
mind  of  Kennedy. 

"Here,"  challenged  Craig,  facing  the  group  and 
drawing  from  his  pocket  the  glass  ampoule,  "I 
picked  this  up  at  the  Red  Lodge  last  night." 

He  held  it  out  in  his  hand  before  the  Rapports  so 
that  they  could  not  help  but  see  it.  Were  they 
merely  good  actors?  They  betrayed  nothing,  at 
least  by  face  or  action. 

"It  is  crotalin,"  he  announced,  "the  venom  of  the 
rattlesnake — crotalus  horridus.  It  has  been  noticed 
that  persons  suffering  from  certain  diseases  of  which 
epilepsy  is  one,  after  having  been  bitten  by  a  rattle- 
snake, if  they  recover  from  the  snake  bite,  are  cured 
of  the  disease." 

Kennedy  was  forging  straight  ahead  now  in  his 
exposure.  "Crotalin,"  he  continued,  "is  one  of  the 
new  drugs  used  in  the  treatment  of  epilepsy.  But  it 
is  a  powerful  two-edged  instrument.  Some  one  who 
knew  the  drug,  who  perhaps  had  used  it,  has  tried 
an  artificial  bite  of  a  rattler  on  Veda  Blair,  not  for 
epilepsy,  but  for  another,  diabolical  purpose,  think- 
ing to  cover  up  the  crime,  either  as  the  result  of  the 
so-called  death  thought  of  the  Lodge  or  as  the  bite 
of  the  real  rattler  at  the  Lodge." 


THE  SERPENT'S  TOOTH  253 

Kennedy  had  at  last  got  under  Dr.  Vaughn's 
guard.    All  his  reticence  was  gone. 

"I  joined  the  cult,"  he  confessed.  "I  did  it  in 
order  to  observe  and  treat  one  of  my  patients  for 
epilepsy.  I  justified  myself.  I  said,  'I  will  be  the 
exposer,  not  the  accomplice,  of  this  modern  Satan- 
ism.'    I  joined  it  and " 

"There  is  no  use  trying  to  shield  anyone, 
Vaughn,"  rapped  out  Kennedy,  scarcely  taking  time 
to  listen.  "An  epileptic  of  the  most  dangerous  crim- 
inal type  has  arranged  this  whole  elaborate  setting 
as  a  plot  to  get  rid  of  the  wife  who  brought  him 
his  fortune  and  now  stands  in  the  way  of  his  unholy 
love  of  Mrs.  Langhorne.  He  used  you  to  get  the 
poison  with  which  you  treated  him.  He  used  the 
Rapports  with  money  to  play  on  her  mysticism  by 
their  so-called  death  thought,  while  he  watched  his 
opportunity  to  inject  the  fatal  crotalin." 

Craig  faced  the  criminal,  whose  eyes  now  showed 
more  plainly  than  words  his  deranged  mental  con- 
dition, and  in  a  low  tone  added,  "The  Devil  if  in 
you,  Seward  Blair  1" 


CHAPTER   XXV 

THE   "HAPPY  DUST" 

Veda  Blair's  rescue  from  the  strange  use  that 
was  made  of  the  venom  came  at  a  time  when  the  city 
was  aroused  as  it  never  had  been  before  over  the 
nation-wide  agitation  against  drugs. 

Already,  it  will  be  recalled,  Kennedy  and  I  had 
had  some  recent  experience  with  dope  fiends  of  vari- 
ous kinds,  but  this  case  I  set  down  because  it  drew 
us  more  intimately  into  the  crusade. 

"I've  called  on  you,  Professor  Kennedy,  to  see  if 
I  can't  interest  you  in  the  campaign  I  am  planning 
against  drugs." 

Mrs.  Claydon  Sutphen,  social  leader  and  suffra- 
gist, had  scarcely  more  than  introduced  herself  when 
she  launched  earnestly  into  the  reason  for  her  visit 
to  us. 

"You  don't  realize  it,  perhaps,"  she  continued 
rapidly,  "but  very  often  a  little  silver  bottle  of 
tablets  is  as  much  a  necessary  to  some  women  of  the 
smart  set  as  cosmetics." 

"I've  heard  of  such  cases,"  nodded  Craig  encour- 
agingly. 

"Well,  you  see  I  became  interested  in  the  subject," 
she  added,  "when  I  saw  some  of  my  own  friends 
going  down.  That's  how  I  came  to  plan  the  cam- 
paign in  the  first  place." 

She  paused,  evidently  nervous.    "I've  been  threat- 

254 


THE  "HAPPY  DUST"  255 

ened,  too,"  she  went  on,  "but  I'm  not  going  to  give 
up  the  fight.  People  think  that  drugs  are  a  curse 
only  to  the  underworld,  but  they  have  no  idea  what 
inroads  the  habit  has  made  in  the  upper  world,  too. 
Oh,  it  is  awful!"  she  exclaimed. 

Suddenly,  she  leaned  over  and  whispered,  "Why, 
there's  my  own  sister,  Mrs.  Garrett.  She  began 
taking  drugs  after  an  operation,  and  now  they  have 
a  terrible  hold  on  her.  I  needn't  try  to  conceal  any- 
thing. It's  all  been  published  in  the  papers — every- 
body knows  it.  Think  of  it — divorced,  disgraced, 
all  through  these  cursed  drugs !  Dr.  Coleman,  our 
family  physician,  has  done  everything  known  to 
break  up  the  habit,  but  he  hasn't  succeeded." 

Dr.  Coleman,  I  knew,  was  a  famous  society  physi- 
cian. If  he  had  failed,  I  wondered  why  she  thought 
a  detective  might  succeed.  But  it  was  evidently  an- 
other purpose  she  had  in  mind  in  introducing  the 
subject. 

"So  you  can  understand  what  it  all  means  to  me, 
personally,"  she  resumed,  with  a  sigh.  "I've  stud- 
ied the  thing — I've  been  forced  to  study  it.  Why, 
now  the  exploiters  are  even  making  drug  fiends  of 
mere — children !" 

Mrs.  Sutphen  spread  out  a  crumpled  sheet  of 
note  paper  before  us  on  which  was  written  something 
in  a  trembling  scrawl.  "For  instance,  here's  a  let- 
ter I  received  only  yesterday." 

Kennedy  glanced  over  it  carefully.  It  was  signed 
"A  Friend,"  and  read: 

"I  have  heard  of  your  drug  war  in  the  newspapers 
and  wish  to  help  you,  only  I  don't  dare  to  do  so 
openly.  But  I  can  assure  you  that  if  you  will  investi- 
gate what  I  am  about  to  tell  you,  you  will  soon  be  on 
the  trail  of  those  higher  up  in  this  terrible  drug  busi- 


256  THE  WAR  TERROR 

ness.  THere  is  a  little  center  of  the  traffic  on  West 
66th'  Street,  just  off  Broadway.  I  cannot  tell  you 
more,  but  if  you  can  investigate  it,  you  will  be  doing 
more  good  than  you  can  possibly  realize  now.  There 
is  one  girl  there,  whom  they  call  'Snowbird.'  If  you 
could  only  get  hold  of  her  quietly  and  place  her  in  a 
sanitarium  you  might  save  her  yet." 

Craig  was  more  than  ordinarily  interested.  "And 
the  children — what  did  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Why,  it's  literally  true,"  asserted  Mrs.  Sutphen 
in  a  horrified  tone.  "Some  of  the  victims  are  actu- 
ally school  children.  Up  there  in  66th  Street  we 
have  found  a  man  named  Armstrong,  who  seems  to 
be  very  friendly  with  this  young  girl  whom  they 
call  'Snowbird.'  Her  real  name,  by  the  way,  is  Saw- 
telle,  I  believe.  She  can't  be  over  eighteen,  a  mere 
child,  yet  she's  a  slave  to  the  stuff." 

"Oh,  then  you  have  actually  already  acted  on  the 
hint  in  the  letter?"  asked  Craig. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "I've  had  one  of  the  agents  of 
our  Anti-Drug  Society,  a  social  worker,  investigat- 
ing the  neighborhood." 

Kennedy  nodded  for  her  to  go  on. 

"I've  even  investigated  myself  a  little,  and  now  I 
want  to  employ  some  one  to  break  the  thing  up.  My 
husband  had  heard  of  you  and  so  here  I  am.  Can 
you  help  me?" 

There  was  a  note  of  appeal  in  her  voice  that  was 
irresistible  to  a  man  who  had  the  heart  of  Ken- 
nedy. 

"Tell  me  just  what  you  have  discovered  so  far," 
he  asked  simply. 

"Well,"  she  replied  slowly,  "after  my  agent  veri- 
fied the  contents  of  the  letter,  I  watched  until  I  saw 
fthis  girl — she's  a  mere  child,  as  I  said — going  to  a 


THE  "HAPPY  DUST"  257 

cabaret  in  the  neighborhood.  What  struck  me  was 
that  I  saw  her  go  in  looking  like  a  wreck  and  come 
out  a  beautiful  creature,  with  bright  eyes,  flushed 
cheeks,  almost  youthful  again.  A  most  remarkable 
girl  she  is,  too,"  mused  Mrs.  Sutphen,  "who  always 
wears  a  white  gown,  white  hat,  white  shoes  and 
white  stockings.     It  must  be  a  mania  with  her." 

Mrs.  Sutphen  seemed  to  have  exhausted  her  small 
store  of  information,  and  as  she  rose  to  go  Ken- 
nedy rose  also.  "I  shall  be  glad  to  look  into  the 
case,  Mrs.  Sutphen,"  he  promised.  "I'm  sure  there 
is  something  that  can  be  done — there  must  be." 

"Thank  you,  ever  so  much,"  she  murmured,  as 
she  paused  at  the  door,  something  still  on  her  mind. 
"And  perhaps,  too,"  she  added,  "you  may  run  across 
my  sister,  Mrs.  Garrett." 

"Indeed,"  he  assured  her,  "if  there  is  anything  I 
can  possibly  do  that  will  assist  you  personally,  I 
shall  be  only  too  happy  to  do  it." 

"Thank  you  again,  ever  so  much,"  she  repeated 
with  just  a  little  choke  in  her  voice. 

For  several  moments  Kennedy  sat  contemplating 
the  anonymous  letter  which  she  had  left  with  him, 
studying  both  its  contents  and  the  handwriting. 

"We  must  go  over  the  ground  up  there  again,"  he 
remarked  finally.  "Perhaps  we  can  do  better  than 
Mrs.  Sutphen  and  her  drug  investigator  have  done." 

Half  an  hour  later  we  had  arrived  and  were  saun- 
tering along  the  street  in  question,  walking  slowly 
up  and  down  in  the  now  fast-gathering  dusk.  It 
was  a  typical  cheap  apartment  block  of  variegated 
character,  with  people  sitting  idly  on  the  narrow 
front  steps  and  children  spilling  out  into  the  road- 
way in  imminent  danger  of  their  young  lives  from 
every  passing  automobile. 


258  THE  WAR  TERROR 

On  the  crowded  sidewalk  a  creation  in  white  hur- 
ried past  us.  One  glance  at  the  tense  face  in  the 
flickering  arc  light  was  enough  for  Kennedy.  He 
pulled  my  arm  and  we  turned  and  followed  at  a  safe 
distance. 

She  looked  like  a  girl  who  could  not  have  been 
more  than  eighteen,  if  she  was  as  old  as  that.  She 
was  pretty,  too,  but  already  her  face  was  beginning 
to  look  old  and  worn  from  the  use  of  drugs.  It  was 
unmistakable. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  was  hurrying,  it  was 
not  difficult  to  follow  her  in  the  crowd,  as  she  picked 
her  way  in  and  out,  and  finally  turned  into  Broad- 
way where  the  white  lights  were  welcoming  the 
night. 

Under  the  glare  of  a  huge  electric  sign  she 
stopped  a  moment,  then  entered  one  of  the  most  no- 
torious of  the  cabarets. 

We  entered  also  at  a  discreet  distance  and  sat 
down  at  a  table. 

"Don't  look  around,  Walter,"  whispered  Craig, 
as  the  waiter  took  our  order,  "but  to  your  right  is 
Mrs.  Sutphen." 

If  he  had  mentioned  any  other  name  in  the  world, 
I  could  not  have  been  more  surprised.  I  waited  im- 
patiently until  I  could  pick  her  out  from  the  corner 
of  my  eye.  Sure  enough,  it  was  Mrs.  Sutphen  and 
another  woman.  What  they  were  doing  there  I 
could  not  imagine,  for  neither  had  the  look  of 
habitues  of  such  a  place. 

I  followed  Kennedy's  eye  and  found  that  he  was 
gazing  furtively  at  a  flashily  dressed  young  man 
who  was  sitting  alone  at  the  far  end  in  a  sort  of 
booth  upholstered  in  leather. 

The  girl  in  white,  whom  I  was  now  sure  was  Miss 


THE  "HAPPY  DUST"  259 

Sawtelle,  went  over  and  greeted  him.  It  was  too 
far  to  see  just  what  happened,  but  the  young  woman 
after  sitting  down  rose  and  left  almost  immediately. 
As  nearly  as  I  could  make  out,  she  had  got  some- 
thing from  him  which  she  had  dropped  into  her 
handbag  and  was  now  hugging  the  handbag  close  to 
herself  almost  as  if  it  were  gold. 

We  sat  for  a  few  minutes  debating  just  what  to 
do,  when  Mrs.  Sutphen  and  her  friend  rose.  As 
she  passed  out,  a  quick,  covert  glance  told  us  to  fol- 
low.   We  did  so  and  the  two  turned  into  Broadway. 

"Let  me  present  you  to  Miss  McCann,"  intro- 
duced Mrs.  Sutphen  as  we  caught  up  with  them. 
"Miss  McCann  is  a  social  worker  and  trained  in- 
vestigator whom  I'm  employing." 

We  bowed,  but  before  we  could  ask  a  question, 
Mrs.  Sutphen  cried  excitedly:  "I  think  I  have  a  clue, 
anyway.  We've  traced  the  source  of  the  drugs  at 
least  as  far  as  that  young  fellow,  'Whitecap,'  whom 
you  saw  in  there." 

I  had  not  recognized  his  face,  although  I  had 
undoubtedly  seen  pictures  of  him  before.  But  no 
sooner  had  I  heard  the  name  than  I  recognized  it  as 
that  of  one  of  the  most  notorious  gang  leaders  on 
the  West  Side. 

Not  only  that,  but  Whitecap's  gang  played  an  im- 
portant part  in  local  politics.  There  was  scarcely 
a  form  of  crime  or  vice  to  which  Whitecap  and  his 
followers  could  not  turn  a  skilled  hand,  whether  it 
was  swinging  an  election,  running  a  gambling  club, 
or  dispensing  "dope." 

"You  see,"  she  explained,  "even  before  I  saw  you, 
my  suspicions  were  aroused  and  I  determined  to  ob- 
tain some  of  the  stuff  they  are  using  up  here,  if  pos- 
sible.   I  realized  it  would  be  useless  for  me  to  try  to 


260    (  THE  WAR  TERROR 

get  it  myself,  so  I  got  Miss  McCann  from  the 
Neighborhood  House  to  try  it.  She  got  it  and  has 
turned  the  bottle  over  to  me." 

"May  I  see  it?"  asked  Craig  eagerly. 

Mrs.  Sutphen  reached  hastily  into  her  handbag, 
drew  forth  a  small  brown  glass  bottle  and  handed 
it  to  him.  Craig  retreated  into  one  of  the  less  dark 
side  streets.  There  he  pulled  out  the  paraffinned 
cork  from  the  bottle,  picked  out  a  piece  of  cotton 
stuffed  in  the  neck  of  the  bottle  and  poured  out  some 
flat  tablets  that  showed  a  glistening  white  in  the 
palm  of  his  hand.    For  an  instant  he  regarded  them. 

"I  may  keep  these?"  he  asked. 

"Certainly,"  replied  Mrs.  Sutphen.  "That's  what 
I  had  Miss  McCann  get  them  for." 

Kennedy  dropped  the  bottle  into  his  pocket. 

"So  that  was  the  gang  leader,  'Whitecap,'  "  he 
remarked  as  we  turned  again  to  Broadway. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Sutphen.  "At  certain  hours, 
I  believe  he  can  be  found  at  that  cabaret  selling  this 
stuff,  whatever  it  is,  to  anyone  who  comes  properly 
introduced.  The  thing  seems  to  be  so  open  and  no- 
torious that  it  amounts  to  a  scandal." 

We  parted  a  moment  later,  Mrs.  Sutphen  and 
Miss  McCann  to  go  to  the  settlement  house,  Craig 
and  I  to  continue  our  investigations. 

"First  of  all,  Walter,"  he  said  as  we  swung 
aboard  an  uptown  car,  "I  want  to  stop  at  the  labora- 
tory." 

In  his  den,  which  had  been  the  scene  of  so  many 
triumphs,  Kennedy  began  a  hasty  examination  of  the 
tablets,  powdering  one  and  testing  it  with  one  chem- 
ical after  another. 

"What  are  they?"   I  asked  at  length  when  he 


THE  "HAPPY  DUST"  261 

seemed  to  have  found  the  right  reaction  which  gave 
him  the  clue. 

"Happy  dust,"  he  answered  briefly. 

"Happy  dust?"  I  repeated,  looking  at  him  a  mo- 
ment in  doubt  as  to  whether  he  was  joking  or  seri- 
ous.    "What  is  that?" 

"The  Tenderloin  name  for  heroin — a  compara- 
tively new  derivative  of  morphine.  It  is  really 
morphine  treated  with  acetic  acid  which  renders  it 
more  powerful  than  morphine  alone." 

"How  do  they  take  them?  What's  the  effect?"  I 
asked. 

"The  person  who  uses  heroin  usually  powders  the 
tablets  and  snuffs  the  powder  up  the  nose,"  he  an- 
swered. "In  a  short  time,  perhaps  only  two  or  three 
weeks,  one  can  become  a  confirmed  victim  of  'happy 
dust'  And  while  one  is  under  its  influence  he  is 
morally,  physically  and  mentally  irresponsible." 

Kennedy  was  putting  away  the  paraphernalia  he 
had  used,  meanwhile  talking  about  the  drug.  "One 
of  the  worst  aspects  of  it,  too,"  he  continued,  "is  the 
desire  of  the  user  to  share  his  experience  with  some 
one  else.  This  passing  on  of  the  habit,  which  seems 
to  be  one  of  the  strongest  desires  of  the  drug  fiend, 
makes  him  even  more  dangerous  to  society  than  he 
would  otherwise  be.  It  makes  it  harder  for  any- 
one once  addicted  to  a  drug  to  shake  it  off,  for  his 
friends  will  give  him  no  chance.  The  only  thing  to 
do  is  to  get  the  victim  out  of  his  environment  and 
into  an  entirely  new  scene." 

The  laboratory  table  cleared  again,  Kennedy  had 
dropped  into  a  deep  study. 

"Now,  why  was  Mrs.  Sutphen  there?"  he  asked 
aloud.  "I  can't  think  it  was  solely  through  her  in- 
terest for  that  girl  they  call  Snowbird    She  was  in- 


262  THE  WAR  TERROR 

terested  in  her,  but  she  made  no  attempt  to  interfere 
or  to  follow  her.  No,  there  must  have  been  another 
reason." 

"You  don't  think  she's  a  dope  fiend  herself,  do 
you?"  I  asked  hurriedly. 

Kennedy  smiled.  "Hardly,  Walter.  If  she  has 
any  obsession  on  the  subject,  it  is  more  likely  to  lead 
her  to  actual  fanaticism  against  all  stimulants  and 
narcotics  and  everything  connected  with  them.  No, 
you  might  possibly  persuade  me  that  two  and  two 
equal  five — but  not  seventeen.  It's  not  very  late.  I 
think  we  might  make  another  visit  to  that  cabaret 
and  see  whether  the  same  thing  is  going  on  yet." 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE  BINET  TEST 

We  rode  downtown  again  and  again  sauntered  in, 
this  time  with  the  theater  crowd.  Our  first  visit  had 
been  so  quiet  and  unostentatious  that  the  second  at- 
tracted no  attention  or  comment  from  the  waiters, 
or  anyone  else. 

As  we  sat  down  we  glanced  over,  and  there  in  his 
corner  still  was  Whitecap.  Apparently  his  supply  of 
the  dope*  was  inexhaustible,  for  he  was  still  dis- 
pensing it.  As  we  watched  the  tenderloin  habitues 
come  and  go,  I  came  soon  to  recognize  the  signs  by 
the  mere  look  on  the  face — the  pasty  skin,  the  va- 
cant eye,  the  nervous  quiver  of  the  muscles  as  though 
every  organ  and  every  nerve  were  crying  out  for 
more  of  the  favorite  nepenthe.  Time  and  again  I 
noticed  the  victims  as  they  sat  at  the  tables,  growing 
more  and  more  haggard  and  worn,  until  they  could 
stand  it  no  longer.  Then  they  would  retire,  some- 
times after  a  visit  across  the  floor  to  Whitecap,  more 
often  directly,  for  they  had  stocked  themselves  up 
with  the  drug  evidently  after  the  first  visit  to  him. 
But  always  they  would  come  back,  changed  in  ap- 
pearance, with  what  seemed  to  be  a  new  lease  of 
life,  but  nevertheless  still  as  recognizable  as  drug 
victims. 

It  was  not  long,  as  we  waited,  before  another 
woman,  older  than  Miss  Sawtelle,  but  dressed  in 

263 


264  THE  WAR  TERROR 

an  extreme  fashion,  hurried  into  the  cabaret  and 
with  scarcely  a  look  to  right  or  left  went  directly 
to  Whitecap's  corner.  I  noticed  that  she,  too,  had 
the  look. 

There  was  a  surreptitious  passing  of  a  bottle  in 
exchange  for  a  treasury  note,  and  she  dropped  into 
the  seat  beside  him. 

Before  he  could  interfere,  she  had  opened  the 
bottle,  crushed  a  tablet  or  two  in  a  napkin,  and  was 
holding  it  to  her  face  as  though  breathing  the  most 
exquisite  perfume.  With  one  quick  inspiration  of 
her  breath  after  another,  she  was  snuffing  the  pow- 
der up  her  nose. 

Whitecap  with  an  angry  gesture  pulled  the  napkin 
from  her  face,  and  one  could  fancy  his  snarl  under 
his  breath,  "Say — do  you  want  to  get  me  in  wrong 
here?" 

But  it  was  too  late.  Some  at  least  of  the  happy 
dust  had  taken  effect,  at  least  enough  to  relieve  the 
terrible  pangs  she  must  have  been  suffering. 

As  she  rose  and  retired,  with  a  hasty  apology  to 
Whitecap  for  her  indiscretion,  Kennedy  turned  to 
me  and  exclaimed,  "Think  of  it.  The  deadliest  of 
all  habits  is  the  simplest.  No  hypodermic;  no  pipe; 
no  paraphernalia  of  any  kind.     It's  terrible." 

She  returned  to  sit  down  and  enjoy  herself,  care- 
ful not  to  obtrude  herself  on  Whitecap  lest  he  might 
become  angry  at  the  mere  sight  of  her  and  treasure 
his  anger  up  against  the  next  time  when  she  would 
need  the  drug. 

Already  there  was  the  most  marvelous  change  in 
her.  She  seemed  captivated  by  the  music,  the  danc- 
ing, the  life  which  a  few  moments  before  she  had 
totally  disregarded. 

She  was  seated  alone,  not  far  from  us,  and  as 


THE  BINET  TEST  265 

she  glanced  about  Kennedy  caught  her  eye.  She 
allowed  her  gaze  to  rest  on  us  for  a  moment,  the 
signal  for  a  mild  flirtation  which  ended  in  our  ex- 
change of  tables  and  we  found  ourselves  opposite 
the  drug  fiend,  who  was  following  up  the  taking  of 
the  dope  by  a  thin-stemmed  glass  of  a  liqueur. 

I  do  not  recall  the  conversation,  but  it  was  one  of 
those  inconsequential  talks  that  Bohemians  consider 
so  brilliant  and  everybody  else  so  vapid.  As  we 
skimmed  from  one  subject  to  another,  treating  the 
big  facts  of  life  as  if  they  were  mere  incidents  and 
the  little  as  if  they  overshadowed  all  else,  I  could 
see  that  Craig,  who  had  a  faculty  of  probing  into 
the  very  soul  of  anyone,  when  he  chose,  was  gradu- 
ally leading  around  to  a  subject  which  I  knew  he 
wanted,  above  all  others,  to  discuss. 

It  was  not  long  before,  as  the  most  natural  remark 
in  the  world  following  something  he  had  made  her 
say,  just  as  a  clever  prestidigitator  forces  a  card,  he 
asked,  "What  was  it  I  saw  you  snuffing  over  in  the 
booth — happy  dust?" 

She  did  not  even  take  the  trouble  to  deny  it,  but 
nodded  a  brazen  "Yes." 

"How  did  you  come  to  use  it  first?"  he  asked, 
careful  not  to  give  offense  in  either  tone  or  manner. 

"The  usual  way,  I  suppose,"  she  replied  with  a 
laugh  that  sounded  harsh  and  grating.  "I  was  ill 
and  I  found  out  what  it  was  the  doctor  was  giving 
me." 

"And  then?" 

"Oh,  I  thought  I  would  use  it  only  as  long  as  it 
served  my  purpose  and,  when  that  was  over,  give 
it  up." 

"But ?"  prompted  Craig  hypnotically. 

"Instead,  I  was  soon  using  six,  eight,  ten  tablets 

18 


266  THE  WAR  TERROR 

of  heroin  a  day.  I  found  that  I  needed  that  amount 
in  order  to  live.  Then  it  went  up  by  leaps  to  twenty, 
thirty,  forty." 

"Suppose  you  couldn't  get  it,  what  then?" 

"Couldn't  get  it?"  she  repeated  with  an  unspeak- 
able horror.  "Once  I  thought  I'd  try  to  stop.  But 
my  heart  skipped  beats;  then  it  seemed  to  pound 
away,  as  if  trying  to  break  through  my  ribs.  I  don't 
think  heroin  is  like  other  drugs.  When  one  has  her 
'coke' — that's  cocaine — taken  away,  she  feels  like  a 
rag.  Fill  her  up  and  she  can  do  anything  again. 
But,  heroin — I  think  one  might  murder  to  get  it!" 

The  expression  on  the  woman's  face  was  almost 
tragic.    I  verily  believe  that  she  meant  it. 

"Why,"  she  cried,  "if  anyone  had  told  me  a  year 
ago  that  the  time  would  ever  come  when  I  would 
value  some  tiny  white  tablets  above  anything  else 
in  the  world,  yes,  and  even  above  my  immortal  soul, 
I  would  have  thought  him  a  lunatic." 

It  was  getting  late,  and  as  the  woman  showed  no 
disposition  to  leave,  Kennedy  and  I  excused  our- 
selves. 

Outside  Craig  looked  at  me  keenly.  "Can  you 
guess  who  that  was?" 

"Although  she  didn't  tell  us  her  name,"  I  replied, 
"I  am  morally  certain  that  it  was  Mrs.  Garrett." 

"Precisely,"  he  answered,  "and  what  a  shame, 
too,  for  she  must  evidently  once  have  been  a  woman 
of  great  education  and  refinement." 

He  shook  his  head  sadly.  "Walter,  there  isn't 
likely  to  be  anything  that  we  can  do  for  some  hours 
now.  I  have  a  little  experiment  I'd  like  to  make. 
Suppose  you  publish  for  me  a  story  in  the  Star  about 
the  campaign  against  drugs.  Tell  about  what  we 
have  seen  to-night,  mention  the  cabaret  by  indirec- 


THE  BINET  TEST  267 

tion  and  Whitecap  directly.  Then  we  can  sit  back 
and  see  what  happens.  We've  got  to  throw  a  scare 
into  them  somehow,  if  we  are  going  to  smoke  out 
anyone  higher  up  than  Whitecap.  But  you'll  have 
to  be  careful,  for  if  they  suspect  us  our  usefulness 
in  the  case  will  be  over." 

Together,  Kennedy  and  I  worked  over  our  story 
far  into  the  night  down  at  the  Star  office,  and  the 
following  day  waited  to  see  whether  anything  came 
of  it. 

It  was  with  a  great  deal  of  interest  tempered  by 
fear  that  we  dropped  into  the  cabaret  the  follow- 
ing evening.  Fortunately  no  one  suspected  us.  In 
fact,  having  been  there  the  night  before,  we  had 
established  ourselves,  as  it  were,  and  were  welcomed 
as  old  patrons  and  good  spenders. 

I  noticed,  however,  that  Whitecap  was  not  there. 
The  story  had  been  read  by  such  of  the  dope  fiends 
as  had  not  fallen  too  far  to  keep  abreast  of  the 
times  and  these  and  the  waiters  were  busy  quietly 
warning  off  a  line  of  haggard-eyed,  disappointed 
patrons  who  came  around,  as  usual. 

Some  of  them  were  so  obviously  dependent  on 
Whitecap  that  I  almost  regretted  having  written  the 
story,  for  they  must  have  been  suffering  the  tortures 
of  the  damned. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  a  reverie  of  this  sort  that 
a  low  exclamation  from  Kennedy  recalled  my  atten- 
tion. There  was  Snowbird  with  a  man  considerably 
older  than  herself.  They  had  just  come  in  and  were 
looking  about  frantically  for  Whitecap.  But  White- 
cap  had  been  too  frightened  by  the  story  in  the  Star 
to  sell  any  more  of  the  magic  happy  dust  openly  in 
the  cabaret,  at  least. 

The  pair,  nerve-racked  and  exhausted,  sat  down 


268  THE  WAR  TERROR 

mournfully  in  a  seat  near  us,  and  as  they  talked 
earnestly  in  low  tones  we  had  an  excellent  oppor- 
tunity for  studying  Armstrong  for  the  first  time. 

He  was  not  a  bad-looking  man,  or  even  a  weak 
one.  In  back  of  the  dissipation  of  the  drugs  one 
fancied  he  could  read  the  story  of  a  brilliant  life 
wrecked.  But  there  was  little  left  to  admire  or  re- 
spect. As  the  couple  talked  earnestly,  the  one  so 
old,  the  other  so  young  in  vice,  I  had  to  keep  a  tight 
rein  on  myself  to  prevent  my  sympathy  for  the 
wretched  girl  getting  the  better  of  common  sense 
and  kicking  the  older  man  out  of  doors. 

Finally  Armstrong  rose  to  go,  with  a  final  im- 
ploring glance  from  the  girl.  Obviously  she  had 
persuaded  him  to  forage  about  to  secure  the  heroin, 
by  hook  or  crook,  now  that  the  accustomed  source 
of  supply  was  cut  off  so  suddenly. 

It  was  also  really  our  first  chance  to  study  the 
girl  carefully  under  the  light,  for  her  entrance  and 
exit  the  night  before  had  been  so  hurried  that  we 
had  seen  comparatively  little  of  her.  Craig  was 
watching  her  narrowly.  Not  only  were  the  effects 
of  the  drug  plainly  evident  on  her  face,  but  it  was 
apparent  that  the  snuffing  the  powdered  tablets  was 
destroying  the  bones  in  her  nose,  through  shrinkage 
of  the  blood  vessels,  as  well  as  undermining  the 
nervous  system  and  causing  the  brain  to  totter. 

I  was  wondering  whether  Armstrong  knew  of  any 
depot  for  the  secret  distribution  of  the  drug.  I 
could  not  believe  that  Whitecap  was  either  the  chief 
distributer  or  the  financial  head  of  the  illegal  traffic. 
I  wondered  who  indeed  was  the  man  higher  up. 
Was  he  an  importer  of  the  drug,  or  was  he  the  rep- 
resentative of  some  chemical  company  not  averse  to 


THE  BINET  TEST  269 

making  an  illegal  dollar  now  and  then  by  dragging 
down  his  fellow  man  ? 

Kennedy  and  I  were  trying  to  act  as  if  we  were 
enjoying  the  cabaret  show  and  not  too  much  inter- 
ested in  the  little  drama  that  was  being  acted  be- 
fore us.  I  think  little  Miss  Sawtelle  noticed,  how- 
ever, that  we  were  looking  often  her  way.  I  was 
amazed,  too,  on  studying  her  more  closely  to  find 
that  there  was  something  indefinably  queer  about 
her,  aside  from  the  marked  effect  of  the  drugs  she 
had  been  taking.  What  it  was  I  was  at  a  loss  to  de- 
termine, but  I  felt  sure  from  the  expression  on  Ken- 
nedy's face  that  he  had  noticed  it  also. 

I  was  on  the  point  of  asking  him  if  he,  too,  ob- 
served anything  queer  in  the  girl,  when  Armstrong 
hurried  in  and  handed  her  a  small  package,  then 
almost  without  a  word  stalked  out  again,  evidently 
as  much  to  Snowbird's  surprise  as  to  our  own. 

She  had  literally  seized  the  package,  as  though 
she  were  drowning  and  grasping  at  a  life  buoy. 
Even  the  surprise  at  his  hasty  departure  could  not 
prevent  her,  however,  from  literally  tearing  the 
wrapper  off,  and  in  the  sheltering  shadow  of  the 
table  cloth  pouring  forth  the  little  white  pellets  in 
her  lap,  counting  them  as  a  miser  counts  his  gold. 

"The  old  thief!"  she  exclaimed  aloud.  "He's 
held  out  twenty-five!" 

I  don't  know  which  it  was  that  amazed  me  most, 
the  almost  childish  petulance  and  ungovernable  tem- 
per of  the  girl  which  made  her  cry  out  in  spite  of 
her  surroundings  and  the  circumstances,  or  the  petty 
rapacity  of  the  man  who  could  stoop  to  such  a  low 
level  as  to  rob  her  in  this  seeming  underhand  man- 
ner. 

There  was  no  time  for  useless  repining  now.    The 


27o  THE  WAR  TERROR 

call  of  outraged  nature  for  its  daily  and  hourly 
quota  of  poison  was  too  imperative.  She  dumped 
the  pellets  back  into  the  bottle  hastily,  and  disap- 
peared. 

When  she  came  back,  it  was  with  that  expression 
I  had  come  to  know  so  well.  At  least  for  a  few 
hours  there  was  a  respite  for  her  from  the  terrific 
pangs  she  had  been  suffering.  She  was  almost  happy, 
smiling.  Even  that  false  happiness,  I  felt,  was  su- 
perior to  Armstrong's  moral  sense  blunted  by  drugs. 
I  had  begun  to  realize  how  lying,  stealing,  crimes  of 
all  sorts  might  be  laid  at  the  door  of  this  great  evil. 

In  her  haste  to  get  where  she  could  snuff  the 
heroin  she  had  forgotten  a  light  wrap  lying  on  her 
chair.  As  she  returned  for  it,  it  fell  to  the  floor. 
Instantly  Kennedy  was  on  his  feet,  bending  over  to 
pick  it  up. 

She  thanked  him,  and  the  smile  lingered  a  mo- 
ment on  her  face.  It  was  enough.  It  gave  Ken- 
nedy the  chance  to  pursue  a  conversation,  and  in  the 
free  and  easy  atmosphere  of  the  cabaret  to  invite 
her  to  sit  over  at  our  table. 

At  least  all  her  nervousness  was  gone  and  she 
chatted  vivaciously.  Kennedy  said  little.  He  was 
too  busy  watching  her.  It  was  quite  the  opposite 
of  the  case  of  Mrs.  Garrett.  Yet  I  was  at  a  loss  to 
define  what  it  was  that  I  sensed. 

Still  the  minutes  sped  past  and  we  seemed  to  be 
getting  on  famously.  Unlike  his  action  in  the  case 
of  the  older  woman  where  he  had  been  sounding  the 
depths  of  her  heart  and  mind,  in  this  case  his  idea 
seemed  to  be  to  allow  the  childish  prattle  to  come 
out  and  perhaps  explain  itself. 

However,  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour  when  we 
seemed  to  be  getting  no  further  along,  Kennedy  did 


THE  BINET  TEST  271 

not  protest  at  her  desire  to  leave  us,  "to  keep  a 
date,"  as  she  expressed  it. 

"Waiter,  the  check,  please,"  ordered  Kennedy 
leisurely. 

When  he  received  it,  he  seemed  to  be  in  no  great 
hurry  to  pay  it,  but  went  over  one  item  after  an- 
other, then  added  up  the  footing  again. 

"Strange  how  some  of  these  waiters  grow  rich?" 
Craig  remarked  finally  with  a  gay  smile. 

The  idea  of  waiters  and  money  quickly  brought 
some  petty  reminiscences  to  her  mind.  While  she 
was  still  talking,  Craig  casually  pulled  a  pencil  out 
of  his  pocket  and  scribbled  some  figures  on  the  back 
of  the  waiter's  check. 

From  where  I  was  sitting  beside  him,  I  could  see 
that  he  had  written  some  figures  similar  to  the  fol- 
lowing: 

5i83 

47395 
654726 

2964375 
47293815 
924738651 
2146073859 

"Here's  a  stunt,"  he  remarked,  breaking  into  the 
conversation  at  a  convenient  point.  "Can  you  re- 
peat these  numbers  after  me?" 

Without  waiting  for  her  to  make  excuse,  he  said 
quickly  "5183."  "5183,"  she  repeated  mechani- 
cally. 

"47395,"  came  in  rapid  succession,  to  which  she 
replied,     perhaps     a     little     slower     than     before, 

"47395-" 

"Now,  654726,"  he  said. 


272  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"654726,"  she  repeated,  I  thought  with  some 
hesitation. 

"Again,  2964375,"  he  shot  out. 

"269,"  she  hesitated,  "73 "  she  stopped. 

It  was  evident  that  she  had  reached  the  limit. 

Kennedy  smiled,  paid  the  check  and  we  parted 
at  the  door. 

"What  was  all  that  rigmarole?"  I  inquired  as  the 
white  figure  disappeared  down  the  street. 

"Part  of  the  Binet  test,  seeing  how  many  digits 
one  can  remember.  An  adult  ought  to  remember 
from  eight  to  ten,  in  any  order.  But  she  has  the 
mentality  of  a  child.  That  is  the  queer  thing  about 
her.  Chronologically  she  may  be  eighteen  years  or 
so  old.  Mentally  she  is  scarcely  more  than  eight. 
Mrs.  Sutphen  was  right.  They  have  made  a  fiend 
out  of  a  mere  child — a  defective  who  never  had  a 
chance  against  them." 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

THE  LIE  DETECTOR 

As  the  horror  of  it  all  dawned  on  me,  I  hated 
Armstrong  worse  than  ever,  hated  Whitecap,  hated 
the  man  higher  up,  whoever  he  might  be,  who  was 
enriching  himself  out  of  the  defective,  as  well  as 
the  weakling,  and  the  vicious — all  three  typified  by 
Snowbird,  Armstrong  and  Whitecap. 

Having  no  other  place  to  go,  pending  further 
developments  of  the  publicity  we  had  given  the  drug 
war  in  the  Star,  Kennedy  and  I  decided  on  a  walk 
home  in  the  bracing  night  air. 

We  had  scarcely  entered  the  apartment  when  the 
halJ  boy  called  to  us  frantically :  "Some  one's  been 
trying  to  get  you  all  over  town,  Professor  Kennedy. 
Here's  the  message.  I  wrote  it  down.  An  attempt 
has  been  made  to  poison  Mrs.  Sutphen.  They  said 
at  the  other  end  of  the  line  that  you'd  know." 

We  faced  each  other  aghast. 

"My  God !"  exclaimed  Kennedy.  "Has  that  been 
the  effect  of  our  story,  Walter?  Instead  of  smok- 
ing out  anyone — we've  almost  killed  some  one." 

As  fast  as  a  cab  could  whisk  us  around  to  Mrs. 
Sutphen's  we  hurried. 

"I  warned  her  that  if  she  mixed  up  in  any  such 
fight  as  this  she  might  expect  almost  anything,"  re- 
marked Mr.  Sutphen  nervously,  as  he  met  us  in 
the  reception  room.     "She's  all  right,  now,  I  guess, 

273 


274  THE  WAR  TERROR 

but  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  prompt  work  of  the 
ambulance  surgeon  I  sent  for,  Dr.  Coleman  says 
she  would  have  died  in  fifteen  minutes." 

"How  did  it  happen?"  asked  Craig. 

"Why,  she  usually  drinks  a  glass  of  vichy  and 
milk  before  retiring,"  replied  Mr.  Sutphen.  "We 
don't  know  yet  whether  it  was  the  vichy  or  the 
milk  that  was  poisoned,  but  Dr.  Coleman  thinks  it 
was  chloral  in  one  or  the  other,  and  so  did  the  am- 
bulance surgeon.  I  tell  you  I  was  scared.  I  tried 
to  get  Coleman,  but  he  was  out  on  a  case,  and  I 
happened  to  think  of  the  hospitals  as  probably  the 
quickest.  Dr.  Coleman  came  in  just  as  the  young 
surgeon  was  bringing  her  around.  He — oh,  here 
he  is  now." 

The  famous  doctor  was  just  coming  downstairs. 
He  saw  us,  but,  I  suppose,  inasmuch  as  we  did  not 
belong  to  the  Sutphen  and  Coleman  set,  ignored  us. 

"Mrs.  Sutphen  will  be  all  right  now,"  he  said  re- 
assuringly as  he  drew  on  his  gloves.  "The  nurse  has 
arrived,  and  I  have  given  her  instructions  what  to 
do.  And,  by  the  way,  my  dear  Sutphen,  I  should 
advise  you  to  deal  firmly  with  her  in  that  matter 
about  which  her  name  is  appearing  in  the  papers. 
Women  nowadays  don't  seem  to  realize  the  dangers 
they  run  in  mixing  in  in  all  these  reforms.  I  have 
ordered  an  analysis  of  both  the  milk  and  vichy,  but 
that  will  do  little  good  unless  we  can  find  out  who 
poisoned  it.  And  there  are  so  many  chances  for 
things  like  that,  life  is  so  complex  nowadays " 

He  passed  out  with  scarcely  a  nod  at  us.  Ken- 
nedy did  not  attempt  to  question  him.  He  was 
thinking  rapidly. 

"Walter,  we  have  no  time  to  lose,"  he  exclaimed, 
seizing  a  telephone  that  stood  on  a  stand  near  by. 


THE  LIE  DETECTOR  275 

"This  is  the  time  for  action.  Hello — Police  Head- 
quarters, First  Deputy  O'Connor,  please." 

As  Kennedy  waited  I  tried  to  figure  out  how  it 
could  have  happened.  I  wondered  whether  it  might 
not  have  been  Mrs.  Garrett.  Would  she  stop  at 
anything  if  she  feared  the  loss  of  her  favorite  drug? 
But  then  there  were  so  many  others  and  so  many 
ways  of  "getting"  anybody  who  interfered  with  the 
drug  traffic  that  it  seemed  impossible  to  figure  it  out 
by  pure  deduction. 

"Hello,  O'Connor,"  I  heard  Kennedy  say;  "you 
read  that  story  in  the  Star  this  morning  about  the 
drug  fiends  at  that  Broadway  cabaret?  Yes?  Well, 
Jameson  and  I  wrote  it.  It's  part  of  the  drug  war 
that  Mrs.  Sutphen  has  been  waging.  O'Connor, 
she's  been  poisoned — oh,  no — she's  all  right  now. 
But  I  want  you  to  send  out  and  arrest  Whitecap  and 
that  fellow  Armstrong  immediately.  I'm  going  to 
put  them  through  a  scientific  third  degree  up  in  the 
laboratory  to-night.  Thank  you.  No — no  matter 
how  late  it  is,  bring  them  up." 

Dr.  Coleman  had  gone  long  since,  Mr.  Sutphen 
had  absolutely  no  interest  further  than  the  recovery 
of  Mrs.  Sutphen  just  now,  and  Mrs.  Sutphen  was 
resting  quietly  and  could  not  be  seen.  Accordingly 
Kennedy  and  I  hastened  up  to  the  laboratory  to  wait 
until  O'Connor  could  "deliver  the  goods." 

It  was  not  long  before  one  of  O'Connor's  men 
came  in  with  Whitecap. 

"While  we're  waiting,"  said  Craig,  "I  wish  you 
would  just  try  this  little  cut-out  puzzle." 

I  don't  know  what  Whitecap  thought,  but  I  know 
I  looked  at  Craig's  invitation  to  "play  blocks"  as  a 
joke  scarcely  higher  in  order  than  the  number  repe- 
tition of  Snowbird.    Whitecap  did  it,  however,  sul- 


276  THE  WAR  TERROR 

lenly,  and  under  compulsion,  in,  I  should  say  about 
two  minutes. 

"I  have  Armstrong  here  myself,"  called  out  the 
voice  of  our  old  friend  O'Connor,  as  he  burst  into 
the  room. 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Kennedy.  "I  shall  be  ready 
for  him  in  just  a  second.  Have  Whitecap  held  here 
in  the  anteroom  while  you  bring  Armstrong  into  the 
laboratory.  By  the  way,  Walter,  that  was  another 
of  the  Binet  tests,  putting  a  man  at  solving  puzzles. 
It  involves  reflective  judgment,  one  of  the  factors 
in  executive  ability.  If  Whitecap  had  been  defec- 
tive, it  would  have  taken  him  five  minutes  to  do  that 
puzzle,  if  at  all.  So  you  see  he  is  not  in  the  class 
with  Miss  Sawtelle.  The  test  shows  him  to  be 
shrewd.  He  doesn't  even  touch  his  own  dope.  Now 
for  Armstrong." 

I  knew  enough  of  the  underworld  to  set  Whitecap 
down,  however,  as  a  "lobbygow" — an  agent  for 
some  one  higher  up,  recruiting  both  the  gangs  and 
the  ranks  of  street  women. 

Before  us,  as  O'Connor  led  in  Armstrong,  was  a 
little  machine  with  a  big  black  cylinder.  By  means 
of  wires  and  electrodes  Kennedy  attached  it  to  Arm- 
strong's chest. 

"Now,  Armstrong,"  he  began  in  an  even  tone, 
"I  want  you  to  tell  the  truth — the  whole  truth.  You 
have  been  getting  heroin  tablets  from  Whitecap." 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  dope  fiend  defiantly. 

"To-day  you  had  to  get  them  elsewhere." 

No  answer. 

"Never  mind,"  persisted  Kennedy,  still  calm,  "I 
know.  Why,  Armstrong,  you  even  robbed  that  girl 
of  twenty-five  tablets." 

"I  did  not,"  shot  out  the  answer. 


THE  LIE  DETECTOR  277 

"There  were  twenty-five  short,"  accused  Kennedy. 

The  two  faced  each  other.  Craig  repeated  his 
remark. 

"Yes,"  replied  Armstrong,  "I  held  out  the  tablets, 
but  it  was  not  for  myself.  I  can  get  all  I  want.  I 
did  it  because  I  didn't  want  her  to  get  above  seventy- 
five  a  day.  I  have  tried  every  way  to  break  her  of 
the  habit  that  has  got  me — and  failed.  But  seventy- 
five — is  the  limit!" 

"A  pretty  story!"  exclaimed  O'Connor. 

Craig  laid  his  hand  on  his  arm  to  check  him,  as 
he  examined  a  record  registered  on  the  cylinder  of 
the  machine. 

"By  the  way,  Armstrong,  I  want  you  to  write  me 
out  a  note  that  I  can  use  to  get  a  hundred  heroin 
tablets.  You  can  write  it  all  but  the  name  of  the 
place  where  I  can  get  them." 

Armstrong  was  on  the  point  of  demurring,  but 
the  last  sentence  reassured  him.  He  would  reveal 
nothing  by  it — yet. 

Still  the  man  was  trembling  like  a  leaf.  He 
wrote : 

"Give  Whitecap  one  hundred  shocks — A  Victim." 

For  a  moment  Kennedy  studied  the  note  carefully. 
"Oh — er — I  forgot,  Armstrong,  but  a  few  days  ago 
an  anonymous  letter  was  sent  to  Mrs.  Sutphen, 
signed  'A  Friend.'  Do  you  know  anything  about 
it?" 

"A  note?"  the  man  repeated.  "Mrs.  Sutphen?  I 
don't  know  anything  about  any  note,  or  Mrs.  Sut- 
phen either." 

Kennedy  was  still  studying  his  record.  "This," 
he  remarked  slowly,  "is  what  I  call  my  psychophysi- 
cal test  for  falsehood.    Lying,  when  it  is  practiced 


278  THE  WAR  TERROR 

by  an  expert,  is  not  easily  detected  by  the  most  care-* 
ful  scrutiny  of  the  liar's  appearance  and  manner. 

"However,  successful  means  have  been  developed 
for  the  detection  of  falsehood  by  the  study  of  ex- 
perimental psychology.  Walter,  I  think  you  will 
recall  the  test  I  used  once,  the  psychophysical  fac- 
tor of  the  character  and  rapidity  of  the  mental 
process  known  as  the  association  of  ideas?" 

I  nodded  acquiescence. 

"Well,"  he  resumed,  "in  criminal  jurisprudence,  I 
find  an  even  more  simple  and  more  subjective  test 
which  has  been  recently  devised.  Professor  Stoer- 
ring  of  Bonn  has  found  out  that  feelings  of  pleasure 
and  pain  produce  well-defined  changes  in  respira- 
tion. Similar  effects  are  produced  by  lying,  accord- 
ing to  the  famous  Professor  Benussi  of  Graz. 

"These  effects  are  unerring,  unequivocal.  The  ut- 
terance of  a  false  statement  increases  respiration; 
of  a  true  statement  decreases.  The  importance  and 
scope  of  these  discoveries  are  obvious." 

Craig  was  figuring  rapidly  on  a  piece  of  paper. 
"This  is  a  certain  and  objective  criterion,"  he  con- 
tinued as  he  figured,  "between  truth  and  falsehood. 
Even  when  a  clever  liar  endeavors  to  escape  detec- 
tion by  breathing  irregularly,  it  is  likely  to  fail,  for 
Benussi  has  investigated  and  found  that  voluntary 
changes  in  respiration  don't  alter  the  result.  You 
see,  the  quotient  obtained  by  dividing  the  time  of 
inspiration  by  the  time  of  expiration  gives  me  the 
result." 

He  looked  up  suddenly.  "Armstrong,  you  are 
telling  the  truth  about  some  things — downright  lies 
about  others.  You  are  a  drug  fiend — but  I  will  be 
lenient  with  you,  for  one  reason.  Contrary  to  every- 
thing that  I  would  have  expected,  you  are  really 


THE  LIE  DETECTOR  279 

trying  to  save  that  poor  half-witted  girl  whom  you 
love  from  the  terrible  habit  that  has  gripped  you. 
That  is  why  you  held  out  the  quarter  of  the  one 
hundred  tablets.  That  is  why  you  wrote  the  note 
to  Mrs.  Sutphen,  hoping  that  she  might  be  treated 
in  some  institution." 

Kennedy  paused  as  a  look  of  incredulity  passed 
over  Armstrong's  face. 

"Another  thing  you  said  was  true,"  added  Ken- 
nedy. "You  can  get  all  the  heroin  you  want.  Arm- 
strong, you  will  put  the  address  of  that  place  on  the 
outside  of  the  note,  or  both  you  and  Whitecap  go  to 
jail.  Snowbird  will  be  left  to  her  own  devices — she 
can  get  all  the  'snow,'  as  some  of  you  fiends  call  it, 
that  she  wants  from  those  who  might  exploit  her." 

"Please,  Mr.  Kennedy,"  pleaded  Armstrong. 

"No,"  interrupted  Craig,  before  the  drug  fiend 
could  finish.  "That  is  final.  I  must  have  the  name 
of  that  place." 

In  a  shaky  hand  Armstrong  wrote  again.  Hastily 
Craig  stuffed  the  note  into  his  pocket,  and  ten  min- 
utes later  we  were  mounting  the  steps  of  a  big  brown- 
stone  house  on  a  fashionable  side  street  just  around 
the  corner  from  Fifth  Avenue. 

As  the  door  was  opened  by  an  obsequious  colored 
servant,  Craig  handed  him  the  scrap  of  paper  signed 
by  the  password,  "A  Victim." 

Imitating  the  cough  of  a  confirmed  dope  user, 
Craig  was  led  into  a  large  waiting  room. 

"You're  in  pretty  bad  shape,  sah,"  commented 
the  servant. 

Kennedy  nudged  me  and,  taking  the  cue,  I 
coughed  myself  red  in  the  face. 

"Yes,"  he  said.     "Hurry— please." 

The  servant  knocked  at  a  door,   and  as  it  was 


280  THE  WAR  TERROR 

opened  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Garrett  in 
negligee. 

"What  is  it,  Sam?"  she  asked. 

"Two  gentlemen  for  some  heroin  tablets,  ma'am." 

"Tell  them  to  go  to  the  chemical  works — not  to 
my  office,  Sam,"  growled  a  man's  voice  inside. 

With  a  quick  motion,  Kennedy  had  Mrs.  Garrett 
by  the  wrist. 

"I  knew  it,"  he  ground  out.  "It  was  all  a  fake 
about  how  you  got  the  habit.  You  wanted  to  get  it, 
so  you  could  get  and  hold  him.  And  neither  one 
of  you  would  stop  at  anything,  not  even  the  murder 
of  your  sister,  to  prevent  the  ruin  of  the  devilish 
business  you  have  built  up  in  manufacturing  and 
marketing  the  stuff." 

He  pulled  the  note  from  the  hand  of  the  sur- 
prised negro.  "I  had  the  right  address,  the  place 
where  you  sell  hundreds  of  ounces  of  the  stuff  a 
week — but  I  preferred  to  come  to  the  doctor's  office 
where  I  could  find  you  both." 

Kennedy  had  firmly  twisted  her  wrist  until,  with 
a  little  scream  of  pain,  she  let  go  the  door  handle. 
Then  he  gently  pushed  her  aside,  and  the  next  in- 
stant Craig  had  his  hand  inside  the  collar  of  Dr. 
Coleman,  society  physician,  proprietor  of  the  Cole- 
man Chemical  Works  downtown,  the  real  leader  of 
the  drug  gang  that  was  debauching  whole  sections 
of  the  metroDolis. 


CHAPrER   XXVIII 

THE  FAMILY  SKELETON 

Surprised  though  we  were  at  the  unmasking  of 
Dr.  Coleman,  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  follow 
the  thing  out.  In  such  cases  we  usually  ran  into 
the  greatest  difficulty — organized  vice.  This  was 
no  exception. 

Even  when  cases  involved  only  a  clever  individual 
or  a  prominent  family,  it  was  the  same.  I  recall, 
for  example,  the  case  of  a  well-known  family  in  a 
New  York  suburb,  which  was  particularly  difficult. 
It  began  in  a  rather  unusual  manner,  too. 

"Mr.  Kennedy — I  am  ruined — ruined." 

It  was  early  one  morning  that  the  telephone  rang 
and  I  answered  it.  A  very  excited  German,  breath- 
less and  incoherent,  was  evidently  at  the  other  end 
of  the  wire. 

I  handed  the  receiver  to  Craig  and  picked  up  the 
morning  paper  lying  on  the  table. 

"Minturn — dead?"  I  heard  Craig  exclaim.  "In 
the  paper  this  morning?  I'll  be  down  to  see  you 
directly." 

Kennedy  almost  tore  the  paper  from  me.  In  the 
next  to  the  end  column  where  late  news  usually  is 
dropped  was  a  brief  account  of  the  sudden  death  of 
Owen  Minturn,  one  of  the  foremost  criminal  law- 
yers of  the  city,  in  Josephson's  Baths  downtown. 

It  ended:  "It  is  believed  by  the  coroner  that  Mr* 
281 

19 


282  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Minturn  was  shocked  to  death  and  evidence  is  be- 
ing sought  to  show  that  two  hundred  and  forty  volts 
of  electricity  had  been  thrown  into  the  attorney's 
body  while  he  was  in  the  electric  bath.  Joseph  Jo- 
sephson,  the  proprietor  of  the  bath,  who  operated 
the  switchboard,  is  being  held,  pending  the  comple- 
tion of  the  inquiry." 

As  Kennedy  hastily  ran  his  eye  over  the  para- 
graphs, he  became  more  and  more  excited  himself. 

"Walter,"  he  cried,  as  he  finished,  "I  don't  be- 
lieve that  that  was  an  accident  at  all." 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

He  already  had  his  hat  on,  and  I  knew  he  was 
going  to  Josephson's  breakfastless.  I  followed  re- 
luctantly. 

"Because,"  he  answered,  as  we  hustled  along  in 
the  early  morning  crowd,  "it  was  only  yesterday 
afternoon  that  I  saw  Minturn  at  his  office  and  he 
made  an  appointment  with  me  for  this  very  morn- 
ing. He  was  a  very  secretive  man,  but  he  did  tell 
me  this  much,  that  he  feared  his  life  was  in  danger 
and  that  it  was  in  some  way  connected  with  that 
Pearcy  case  up  in  Stratfield,  Connecticut,  where  he 
has  an  estate.    You  have  read  of  the  case?" 

Indeed  I  had.  It  had  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  par- 
ticularly inexplicable  affair.  Apparently  a  whole 
family  had  been  poisoned  and  a  few  days  before  old 
Mr.  Randall  Pearcy,  a  retired  manufacturer,  had 
died  after  a  brief  but  mysterious  illness. 

Pearcy  had  been  married  a  year  or  so  ago  to  An- 
nette Oakleigh,  a  Broadway  comic  opera  singer,  who 
was  his  second  wife.  By  his  first  marriage  he  had 
had  two  children,  a  son,  Warner,  and  a  daughter, 
Isabel. 

Warner  Pearcy,  I  had  heard,  had  blazed  a  ver- 


THE  FAMILY  SKELETON  283 

milion  trail  along  the  Great  White  Way,  but  his 
sister  was  of  the  opposite  temperament,  interested 
in  social  work,  and  had  attracted  much  attention  by 
organizing  a  settlement  in  the  slums  of  Stratfield 
for  the  uplift  of  the  workers  in  the  Pearcy  and  other 
mills. 

Broadway,  as  well  as  Stratfield,  had  already 
woven  a  fantastic  background,  for  the  mystery  and 
hints  had  been  broadly  made  that  Annette  Oakleigh 
had  been  indiscreetly  intimate  with  a  young  physi- 
cian in  the  town,  a  Dr.  Gunther,  a  friend,  by  the 
way,  of  Minturn. 

"There  has  been  no  trial  yet,"  went  on  Kennedy, 
"but  Minturn  seems  to  have  appeared  before  the 
coroner's  jury  at  Stratfield  and  to  have  asserted  the 
innocence  of  Mrs.  Pearcy  and  that  of  Dr.  Gunther  so 
well  that,  although  the  jury  brought  in  a  verdict  of 
murder  by  poison  by  some  one  unknown,  there  has 
been  no  mention  of  the  name  of  anyone  else.  The 
coroner  simply  adjourned  the  inquest  so  that  a  more 
careful  analysis  might  be  made  of  the  vital  organs. 
And  now  comes  this  second  tragedy  in  New  York." 

"What  was  the  poison?"  I  asked.  "Have  they 
found  out  yet?" 

"They  are  pretty  sure,  so  Minturn  told  me,  that 
it  was  lead  poisoning.  The  fact  not  generally  known 
is,"  he  added  in  a  lower  tone,  "that  the  cases  were 
not  confined  to  the  Pearcy  house.  They  had  even 
extended  to  Minturn's  too,  although  about  that  he 
said  little  yesterday.  The  estates  up  there  adjoin, 
you  know." 

Owen  Minturn,  I  recalled,  had  gained  a  formida- 
ble reputation  by  his  successful  handling  of  cases 
from  the  lowest  strata  of  society  to  the  highest. 
Indeed  it  was  a  byword  that  his  appearance  in  court 


284  THE  WAR  TERROR 

indicated  two  things — the  guilt  of  the  accused  and 
a  verdict  of  acquittal. 

"Of  course,"  Craig  pursued  as  we  were  jolted 
from  station  to  station  downtown,  "you  know  they 
say  that  Minturn  never  kept  a  record  of  a  case. 
But  written  records  were  as  nothing  compared  to 
what  that  man  must  have  carried  only  in  his  head." 

It  was  a  common  saying  that,  if  Minturn  should 
tell  all  he  knew,  he  might  hang  half  a  dozen  promi- 
nent men  in  society.  That  was  not  strictly  true,  per- 
haps, but  it  was  certain  that  a  revelation  of  the 
things  confided  to  him  by  clients  which  were  never 
put  down  on  paper  would  have  caused  a  series  of 
explosions  that  would  have  wrecked  at  least  some 
portions  of  the  social  and  financial  world.  He  had 
heard  much  and  told  little,  for  he  had  been  a  sort 
of  "father  confessor." 

Had  Minturn,  I  wondered,  known  the  name  of 
the  real  criminal? 

Josephson's  was  a  popular  bath  on  Forty-second 
Street,  where  many  of  the  "sun-dodgers"  were  ac- 
customed to  recuperate  during  the  day  from  their 
arduous  pursuit  of  pleasure  at  night  and  prepare  for 
the  resumption  of  their  toil  during  the  coming  night 
It  was  more  than  that,  however,  for  it  had  a  repu- 
tation for  being  conducted  really  on  a  high  plane. 

We  met  Josephson  downstairs.  He  had  been  re- 
leased under  bail,  though  the  place  was  temporarily 
closed  and  watched  over  by  the  agents  of  the  coro- 
ner and  the  police.  Josephson  appeared  to  be  a 
man  of  some  education  and  quite  different  from 
what  I  had  imagined  from  hearing  him  over  the 
telephone. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Kennedy,"  he  exclaimed,  "who  now  will 


THE  FAMILY  SKELETON  285 

come  to  my  baths?  Last  night  they  were  crowded, 
but  to-day " 

He  ended  with  an  expressive  gesture  of  his  hands. 

"One  customer  I  have  surely  lost,  young  Mr. 
Pearcy,"  he  went  on. 

"Warner  Pearcy?"  asked  Craig.  "Was  he  here 
last  night?" 

"Nearly  every  night,"  replied  Josephson,  now 
glib  enough  as  his  first  excitement  subsided  and  his 
command  of  English  returned.  "He  was  a  neigh- 
bor of  Mr.  Minturn's,  I  hear.  Oh,  what  luck!" 
growled  Josephson  as  the  name  recalled  him  to  his 
present  troubles. 

"Well,"  remarked  Kennedy  with  an  attempt  at 
reassurance  as  if  to  gain  the  masseur's  confidence, 
"I  know  as  well  as  you  that  it  is  often  amazing 
what  a  tremendous  shock  a  man  may  receive  and  yet 
not  be  killed,  and  no  less  amazing  how  small  a  shock 
may  kill.    It  all  depends  on  circumstances." 

Josephson  shot  a  covert  look  at  Kennedy.  "Yes," 
he  reiterated,  "but  I  cannot  see  how  it  could  be. 
If  the  lights  had  become  short-circuited  with  the 
bath,  that  might  have  thrown  a  current  into  the 
bath.    But  they  were  not.    I  know  it." 

"Still,"  pursued  Kennedy,  watching  him  keenly, 
"it  is  not  all  a  question  of  current.  To  kill,  the 
shock  must  pass  through  a  vital  organ — the  brain, 
the  heart,  the  upper  spinal  cord.  So,  a  small  shock 
may  kill  and  a  large  one  may  not.  If  it  passes  in 
one  foot  and  out  by  the  other,  the  current  isn't  likely 
to  be  as  dangerous  as  if  it  passes  in  by  a  hand  or 
foot  and  then  out  by  a  foot  or  hand.  In  one  case 
it  passes  through  no  vital  organ;  in  the  other  it  is 
very  likely  to  do  so.  You  see,  the  current  can  flow 
through  the  body  only  when  it  has  a  place  of  en- 


286  THE  WAR  TERROR 

trance  and  a  place  of  exit.  In  all  cases  of  accident 
from  electric  light  wires,  the  victim  is  touching  some 
conductor — damp  earth,  salty  earth,  water,  some- 
thing that  gives  the  current  an  outlet  and " 

"But  even  if  the  lights  had  been  short-circuited," 
interrupted  Josephson,  "Mr.  Minturn  would  have 
escaped  injury  unless  he  had  touched  the  taps  of 
the  bath.  Oh,  no,  sir,  accidents  in  the  medical  use 
of  electricity  are  rare.  They  don't  happen  here  in 
my  establishment,"  he  maintained  stoutly.  "The 
trouble  was  that  the  coroner,  without  any  knowledge 
of  the  physiological  effects  of  electricity  on  the  body, 
simply  jumped  at  once  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was 
the  electric  bath  that  did  it." 

"Then  it  was  for  medical  treatment  that  Mr.  Min- 
turn was  taking  the  bath?"  asked  Kennedy,  quickly 
taking  up  the  point. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  answered  the  masseur,  eager  to 
explain.  "You  are  acquainted  with  the  latest  treat- 
ment for  lead  poisoning  by  means  of  the  electric 
bath?" 

Kennedy  nodded.  "I  know  that  Sir  Thomas 
Oliver,  the  English  authority  who  has  written  much 
on  dangerous  trades,  has  tried  it  with  marked  suc- 
cess." 

"Well,  sir,  that  was  why  Mr.  Minturn  was  here. 
He  came  here  introduced  by  a  Dr.  Gunther  of  Strat- 
field." 

"Indeed?"  remarked  Kennedy  colorlessly,  though 
I  could  see  that  it  interested  him,  for  evidently  Min- 
turn had  said  nothing  of  being  himself  a  sufferer 
from  the  poison.     "May  I  see  the  bath?" 

"Surely,"  said  Josephson,  leading  the  way  up- 
stairs. 

It  was  an  oaken  tub  with  metal  rods  on  the  two 


THE  FAMILY  SKELETON  287 

long  sides,  from  which  depended  prismatic  carbon 
rods.     Kennedy  examined  it  closely. 

"This  is  what  we  call  a  hydro-electric  bath,"  Jo- 
sephson  explained.  "Those  rods  on  the  sides  are 
the  electrodes.  You  see  there  are  no  metal  parts 
in  the  tub  itself.  The  rods  are  attached  by  wiring 
to  a  wall  switch  out  here." 

He  pointed  to  the  next  room.  Kennedy  examined 
the  switch  with  care. 

"From  it,"  went  on  Josephson,  "wires  lead  to  an 
accumulator  battery  of  perhaps  thirty  volts.  It  uses 
very  little  current.  Dr.  Gunther  tested  it  and  found 
it  all  right." 

Craig  leaned  over  the  bath,  and  from  the  carbon 
electrodes  scraped  off  a  white  powder  in  minute 
crystals. 

"Ordinarily,"  Josephson  pursued,  "lead  is  elimi- 
nated by  the  skin  and  kidneys.  But  now,  as  you 
know,  it  is  being  helped  along  by  electrolysis.  I 
talked  to  Dr.  Gunther  about  it.  It  is  his  opinion 
that  it  is  probably  eliminated  as  a  chloride  from  the 
tissues  of  the  body  to  the  electrodes  in  the  bath  in 
which  the  patient  is  wholly  or  partly  immersed.  On 
the  positive  electrodes  we  get  the  peroxide.  On  the 
negative  there  is  a  spongy  metallic  form  of  lead. 
But  it  is  only  a  small  amount." 

"Xfre  body  has  been  removed?"  asked  Craig. 

"Not  yet,"  the  masseur  replied.  "The  coroner 
has  ordered  it  kept  here  under  guard  until  he  makes 
up  his  mind  what  disposition  to  have  made  of  it." 

We  were  next  ushered  into  a  little  room  on  the 
same  floor,  at  the  door  of  which  was  posted  an  offi- 
cial  from  the  coroner. 

"First  of  all,"  remarked  Craig,  as  he  drew  back 
the  sheet  and  began  a  minute  examination  of  the 


288  THE  WAR  TERROR 

earthly  remains  of  the  great  lawyer,  "there  are  to 
be  considered  the  safeguards  of  the  human  body 
against  the  passage  through  it  of  a  fatal  electric 
current — the  high  electric  resistance  of  the  body  it- 
self. It  is  particularly  high  when  the  current  must 
pass  through  joints  such  as  wrists,  knees,  elbows, 
and  quite  high  when  the  bones  of  the  head  are  con- 
cerned. Still,  there  might  have  been  an  incautious 
application  of  the  current  to  the  head,  especially 
when  the  subject  is  a  person  of  advanced  age  or 
latent  cerebral  disease,  though  I  don't  know  that 
that  fits  Mr.  Minturn.  That's  strange,"  he  mut- 
tered, looking  up,  puzzled.  "I  can  find  no  mark 
of  a  burn  on  the  body — absolutely  no  mark  of  any- 
thing." 

"That's  what  I  say,"  put  in  Josephson,  much 
pleased  by  what  Kennedy  said,  for  he  had  been 
waiting  anxiously  to  see  what  Craig  discovered  on 
his  own  examination.    "It's  impossible." 

"It's  all  the  more  remarkable,"  went  on  Craig, 
half  to  himself  and  ignoring  Josephson,  "because 
burns  due  to  electric  currents  are  totally  unlike  those 
produced  in  other  ways.  They  occur  at  the  point  of 
contact,  usually  about  the  arms  and  hands,  or  the 
head.  Electricity  is  much  to  be  feared  when  it  in- 
volves the  cranial  cavity." 

He  completed  his  examination  of  the  head  which 
once  had  carried  secrets  which  themselves  must  have 
been  incandescent. 

"Then,  too,  such  burns  are  most  often  something 
more  than  superficial,  for  considerable  heat  is  de- 
veloped which  leads  to  massive  destruction  and  car- 
bonization of  the  tissues  to  a  considerable  depth.  I 
have  seen  actual  losses  of  substance — a  lump  of 
killed  flesh  surrounded  by  healthy  tissues.     Besides, 


THE  FAMILY  SKELETON  289 

such  burns  show  an  unexpected  indolence  when  com- 
pared to  the  violent  pains  of  ordinary  burns.  Per- 
haps that  is  due  to  the  destruction  of  the  nerve  end- 
ings. How  did  Minturn  die?  Was  he  alone?  Was 
he  dead  when  he  was  discovered?" 

"He  was  alone,"  replied  Josephson,  slowly  en- 
deavoring to  tell  it  exactly  as  he  had  seen  it,  "but 
that's  the  strange  part  of  it.  He  seemed  to  be  suf- 
fering from  a  convulsion.  I  think  he  complained  at 
first  of  a  feeling  of  tightness  of  his  throat  and  a 
twitching  of  the  muscles  of  his  hands  and  feet  Any- 
how, he  called  for  help.  I  was  up  here  and  we 
rushed  in.  Dr.  Gunther  had  just  brought  him  and 
then  had  gone  away,  after  introducing  him,  and 
showing  him  the  bath." 

Josephson  proceeded  slowly,  evidently  having 
been  warned  that  anything  he  said  might  be  used 
against  him.  "We  carried  him,  when  he  was  this 
way,  into  this  very  room.  But  it  was  only  for  a 
short  time.  Then  came  a  violent  convulsion.  It 
seemed  to  extend  rapidly  all  over  his  body.  His  legs 
were  rigid,  his  feet  bent,  his  head  back.  Why,  he 
was  resting  only  on  his  heels  and  the  back  of  his 
head.  You  see,  Mr.  Kennedy,  that  simply  could  not 
be  the  electric  shock." 

"Hardly,"  commented  Kennedy,  looking  again  at 
the  body.  "It  looks  more  like  a  tetanus  convulsion. 
Yet  there  does  not  seem  to  be  any  trace  of  a  recent 
wound  that  might  have  caused  lockjaw.  How  did 
he  look?" 

"Oh,  his  face  finally  became  livid,"  replied  Jo- 
sephson. "He  had  a  ghastly,  grinning  expression, 
his  eyes  were  wide,  there  was  foam  on  his  mouth, 
and  his  breathing  was  difficult." 

"Not  like  tetanus,  either,"  revised  Craig.    "There 


290  THE  WAR  TERROR 

the  convulsion  usually  begins  with  the  face  and  pro- 
gresses to  the  other  muscles.  Here  it  seems  to  have 
gone  the  other  way." 

"That  lasted  a  minute  or  so,"  resumed  the  mas- 
seur.  "Then  he  sank  back — perfectly  limp.  I 
thought  he  was  dead.  But  he  was  not.  A  cold 
sweat  broke  out  all  over  him  and  he  was  as  if  in 
a  deep  sleep." 

"What  did  you  do?"  prompted  Kennedy. 

"I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  I  called  an  ambu* 
lance.  But  the  moment  the  door  opened,  his  body 
seemed  to  stiffen  again.  He  had  one  other  con< 
vulsion — and  when  he  grew  limp  he  was  dead." 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

THE  LEAD  POISONER 

It  was  a  gruesome  recital  and  I  was  glad  to  leave 
the  baths  finally  with  Kennedy.  Josephson  was 
quite  evidently  relieved  at  the  attitude  Craig  had 
taken  toward  the  coroner's  conclusion  that  Minturn 
had  been  shocked  to  death.  As  far  as  I  could  see, 
however,  it  added  to  rather  than  cleared  up  the  mys- 
tery. 

Craig  went  directly  uptown  to  his  laboratory,  in 
contrast  with  our  journey  down,  in  abstracted  si- 
lence, which  was  his  manner  when  he  was  trying  to 
reason  out  some  particularly  knotty  problem. 

As  Kennedy  placed  the  white  crystals  which  he 
had  scraped  off  the  electrodes  of  the  tub  on  a  piece 
of  dark  paper  in  the  laboratory,  he  wet  the  tip  of 
his  finger  and  touched  just  the  minutest  grain  to  his 
tongue. 

The  look  on  his  face  told  me  that  something  un- 
expected had  happened.  He  held  a  similar  minute 
speck  of  the  powder  out  to  me. 

It  was  an  intensely  bitter  taste  and  very  persist- 
ent, for  even  after  we  had  rinsed  out  our  mouths  it 
seemed  to  remain,  clinging  persistently  to  the 
tongue. 

He  placed  some  of  the  grains  in  some  pure  wa- 
ter.    They  dissolved  only  slightly,  if  at  all.     But  in 

701 


292  THE  WAR  TERROR 

vi  tube  in  which  he  mixed  a  little  ether  and  chloro- 
form they  dissolved  fairly  readily. 

Next,  without  a  word,  he  poured  just  a  drop  of 
strong  sulphuric  acid  on  the  crystals.  There  was  not 
a  change  in  them. 

Quickly  he  reached  up  into  the  rack  and  took 
down  a  bottle  labeled  "Potassium  Bichromate." 

"Let  us  see  what  an  oxidizing  agent  will  do,"  he 
remarked. 

As  he  gently  added  the  bichromate,  there  came  a 
most  marvelous,  kaleidoscopic  change.  From  being 
almost  colorless,  the  crystals  turned  instantly  to  a 
deep  blue,  then  rapidly  to  purple,  lilac,  red,  and  then 
the  red  slowly  faded  away  and  they  became  color- 
less again. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked,  fascinated.     "Lead?" 

"N-no,"  he  replied,  the  lines  of  his  forehead  deep- 
ening.   "No.    This  is  sulphate  of  strychnine." 

"Sulphate  of  strychnine?"  I  repeated  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"Yes,"  he  reiterated  slowly.  "I  might  have  sus- 
pected that  from  the  convulsions,  particularly  when 
Josephson  said  that  the  noise  and  excitement  of  the 
arrival  of  the  ambulance  brought  on  the  fatal 
paroxysm.  That  is  symptomatic.  But  I  didn't  fully 
realize  it  until  I  got  up  here  and  tasted  the  stuff. 
Then  I  suspected,  for  that  taste  is  characteristic. 
Even  one  part  diluted  seventy  thousand  times  gives 
that  decided  bitter  taste." 

"That's  all  very  well,"  I  remarked,  recalling  the 
intense  bitterness  yet  on  my  tongue.  "But  how  do 
you  suppose  it  was  possible  for  anyone  to  adminis- 
ter it?  It  seems  to  me  that  he  would  have  said  some- 
thing, if  he  had  swallowed  even  the  minutest  part 
of  it.     He  must  have  known  it.     Yet  apparently 


THE  LEAD  POISONER  293 

he  didn't.     At  least  he  said  nothing  about  it — or 
else  Josephson  is  concealing  something." 

"Did  he  swallow  it — necessarily?"  queried  Ken- 
nedy, in  a  tone  calculated  to  show  me  that  the  chem- 
ical world,  at  least,  was  full  of  a  number  of  things, 
and  there  was  much  to  learn. 

"Well,  I  suppose  if  it  had  been  given  hypodermi- 
cally,  it  would  have  a  more  violent  effect,"  I  per- 
sisted, trying  to  figure  out  a  way  that  the  poison 
might  have  been  given. 

"Even  more  unlikely,"  objected  Craig,  with  a  de- 
light at  discovering  a  new  mystery  that  to  me  seemed 
almost  fiendish.  "No,  he  would  certainly  have  felt 
a  needle,  have  cried  out  and  said  something  about 
it,  if  anyone  had  tried  that.  This  poisoned  needle 
business  isn't  as  easy  as  some  people  seem  to  think 
nowadays." 

"Then  he  might  have  absorbed  it  from  the  wa- 
ter," I  insisted,  recalling  a  recent  case  of  Kennedy's 
and  adding,  "by  osmosis." 

"You  saw  how  difficult  it  was  to  dissolve  in  wa- 
ter," Craig  rejected  quietly. 

"Well,  then,"  I  concluded  in  desperation.  "How 
could  it  have  been  introduced?" 

"I  have  a  theory,"  was  all  he  would  say,  reach- 
ing for  the  railway  guide,  "but  it  will  take  me  up 
to  Stratfield  to  prove  it." 

His  plan  gave  us  a  little  respite  and  we  paused 
long  enough  to  lunch,  for  which  breathing  space  I 
was  duly  thankful.  The  forenoon  saw  us  on  the 
train,  Kennedy  carrying  a  large  and  cumbersome 
package  which  he  brought  down  with  him  from  the 
laboratory  and  which  we  took  turns  in  carrying, 
though  he  gave  no  hint  of  its  contents. 

We  arrived  in  Stratfield,  a  very  pretty  little  mill 


294  THE  WAR  TERROR 

town,  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  and  with  very 
little  trouble  were  directed  to  the  Pearcy  house,  after 
Kennedy  had  checked  the  parcel  with  the  station 
agent. 

Mrs.  Pearcy,  to  whom  we  introduced  ourselves 
as  reporters  of  the  Star,  was  a  tall  blonde.  I  could 
not  help  thinking  that  she  made  a  particularly  dash- 
ing widow.  With  her  at  the  time  was  Isabel  Pearcy, 
a  slender  girl  whose  sensitive  lips  and  large,  earnest 
eyes  indicated  a  fine,  high-strung  nature. 

Even  before  we  had  introduced  ourselves,  I  could 
not  help  thinking  that  there  was  a  sort  of  hostility 
between  the  women.  Certainly  it  was  evident  that 
there  was  as  much  difference  in  temperament  as  be- 
tween the  butterfly  and  the  bee. 

"No,"  replied  the  elder  woman  quickly  to  a  re- 
quest from  Kennedy  for  an  interview,  "there  is  noth- 
ing that  I  care  to  say  to  the  newspapers.  They  have 
said  too  much  already  about  this — unfortunate  af- 
fair."      f 

Whether  it  was  imagination  or  not,  I  fancied  that 
there  was  an  air  of  reserve  about  both  women.  It 
struck  me  as  a  most  peculiar  household.  What  was 
it?  Was  each  suspicious  of  the  other?  Was  each 
concealing  something? 

I  managed  to  steal  a  glance  at  Kennedy's  face 
to  see  whether  there  was  anything  to  confirm  my 
own  impression.  He  was  watching  Mrs.  Pearcy 
closely  as  she  spoke.  In  fact  his  next  few  ques- 
tions, inconsequential  as  they  were,  seemed  ad- 
dressed to  her  solely  for  the  purpose  of  getting  her 
to  speak. 

I  followed  his  eyes  and  found  that  he  was  watch- 
ing her  mouth,  in  reality.  As  she  answered  I  noted 
her  beautiful  white   teeth.      Kennedy   himself  had 


THE  LEAD  POISONER  295 

trained  me  to  notice  small  things,  and  at  the  time, 
though  I  thought  it  was  trivial,  I  recall  noticing  on 
her  gums,  where  they  joined  the  teeth,  a  peculiar 
bluish-black  line. 

Kennedy  had  been  careful  to  address  only  Mrs. 
Pearcy  at  first,  and  as  he  continued  questioning  her, 
she  seemed  to  realize  that  he  was  trying  to  lead  her 
along. 

"I  must  positively  refuse  to  talk  any  more,"  she 
repeated  finally,  rising.  "I  am  not  to  be  tricked 
into  saying  anything." 

She  had  left  the  room,  evidently  expecting  that 
Isabel  would  follow.  She  did  not.  In  fact  I  felt 
that  Miss  Pearcy  was  visibly  relieved  by  the  de- 
parture of  her  stepmother.  She  seemed  anxious  to 
ask  us  something  and  now  took  the  first  opportunity. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said  eagerly,  "how  did  Mr.  Min- 
turn  die?  What  do  they  really  think  of  it  in  New 
York?" 

"They  think  it  is  poisoning,"  replied  Craig,  noting 
the  look  on  her  face. 

She  betrayed  nothing,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  ex- 
cept a  natural  neighborly  interest.  "Poisoning?" 
she  repeated.     "By  what?" 

"Lead  poisoning,"  he  replied  evasively. 

She  said  nothing.  It  was  evident  that,  slip  of  a 
girl  though  she  was,  she  was  quite  the  match  of 
anyone  who  attempted  leading  questions.  Kennedy 
changed  his  method. 

"You  will  pardon  me,"  he  said  apologetically, 
"for  recalling  what  must  be  distressing.  But  we 
newspapermen  often  have  to  do  things  and  ask  ques- 
tions that  are  distasteful.  I  believe  it  is  rumored 
that  your  father  suffered  from  lead  poisoning?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  what  it  was — none  of  us  do," 


296  THE  WAR  TERROR 

she  cried,  almost  pathetically.  "I  had  been  living 
at  the  settlement  until  lately.  When  father  grew 
worse,  I  came  home.  He  had  such  strange  visions 
— hallucinations,  I  suppose  you  would  call  them. 
In  the  daytime  he  would  be  so  very  morose  and  mel- 
ancholy. Then,  too,  there  were  terrible  pains  in 
his  stomach,  and  his  eyesight  began  to  fail.  Yes,  I 
believe  that  Dr.  Gunther  did  say  it  was  lead  poison- 
ing. But — they  have  said  so  many  things — so  many 
things,"  she  repeated,  plainly  distressed  at  the  sub- 
ject of  her  recent  bereavement. 

"Your  brother  is  not  at  home?"  asked  Kennedy, 
quickly  changing  the  subject. 

"No,"  she  answered,  then  with  a  flash  as  though 
lifting  the  veil  of  a  confidence,  added:  "You  know, 
neither  Warner  nor  I  have  lived  here  much  this 
year.  He  has  been  in  New  York  most  of  the  time 
and  I  have  been  at  the  settlement,  as  I  already  told 
you." 

She  hesitated,  as  if  wondering  whether  she  should 
say  more,  then  added  quickly:  "It  has  been  repeated 
often  enough;  there  is  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  say 
it  to  you.  Neither  of  us  exactly  approved  of  fa- 
ther's marriage." 

She  checked  herself  and  glanced  about,  somewhat 
with  the  air  of  one  who  has  suddenly  considered  the 
possibility  of  being  overheard. 

"May  I  have  a  glass  of  water?"  asked  Kennedy 
suddenly. 

"Why,  certainly,"  she  answered,  going  to  the 
door,  apparently  eager  for  an  excuse  to  find  out 
whether  there  was  some  one  on  the  other  side  of  it. 

There  was  not,  nor  any  indication  that  there  had 
been. 

"Evidently  she  does  not  have  any  suspicions  of 


THE  LEAD  POISONER  297 

that"  remarked  Kennedy  in  an  undertone,  half  to 
himself. 

I  had  no  chance  to  question  him,  for  she  returned 
almost  immediately.  Instead  of  drinking  the  water, 
however,  he  held  it  carefully  up  to  the  light.  It  was 
slightly  turbid. 

"You  drink  the  water  from  the  tap?"  he  asked, 
as  he  poured  some  of  it  into  a  sterilized  vial  which 
he  drew  quickly  from  his  vest  pocket. 

"Certainly,"  she  replied,  for  the  moment  non- 
plussed at  his  strange  actions.  "Everybody  drinks 
the  town  water  in  Stratfield." 

A  few  more  questions,  none  of  which  were  of  im- 
portance, and  Kennedy  and  I  excused  ourselves. 

At  the  gate,  instead  of  turning  toward  the  town, 
however,  Kennedy  went  on  and  entered  the  grounds 
of  the  Minturn  house  next  door.  The  lawyer,  I  had 
understood,  was  a  widower  and,  though  he  lived  in 
Stratfield  only  part  of  the  time,  still  maintained  his 
house  there. 

We  rang  the  bell  and  a  middle-aged  housekeeper 
answered. 

"I  am  from  the  water  company,"  he  began  po- 
litely. "We  are  testing  the  water,  perhaps  will  sup- 
ply consumers  with  filters.  Can  you  let  me  have  a 
sample?" 

She  did  not  demur,  but  invited  us  in.  As  she 
drew  the  water,  Craig  watched  her  hands  closely. 
She  seemed  to  have  difficulty  in  holding  the  glass, 
and  as  she  handed  it  to  him,  I  noticed  a  peculiar 
hanging  down  of  the  wrist.  Kennedy  poured  the 
sample  into  a  second  vial,  and  I  noticed  that  it  was 
turbid,  too.  With  no  mention  of  the  tragedy  to  her 
employer,  he  excused  himself,  and  we  walked  slowly 
back  to  the  road. 
20 


298  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Between  the  two  houses  Kennedy  paused,  and  fof 
several  moments  appeared  to  be  studying  them. 

We  walked  slowly  back  along  the  road  to  the 
town.  As  we  passed  the  local  drug  store,  Kennedy 
turned  and  sauntered  in. 

He  found  it  easy  enough  to  get  into  conversation 
with  the  druggist,  after  making  a  small  purchase, 
and  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  we  found  our- 
selves gossiping  behind  the  partition  that  shut  off 
the  arcana  of  the  prescription  counter  from  the  rest 
of  the  store. 

Gradually  Kennedy  led  the  conversation  around 
to  the  point  which  he  wanted,  and  asked,  "I  wish 
you'd  let  me  fix  up  a  little  sulphureted  hydrogen." 

"Go  ahead,"  granted  the  druggist  good-naturedly. 
"I  guess  you  can  do  it.  You  know  as  much  about 
drugs  as  I  do.    I  can  stand  the  smell,  if  you  can." 

Kennedy  smiled  and  set  to  work. 

Slowly  he  passed  the  gas  through  the  samples  of 
water  he  had  taken  from  the  two  houses.  As  he 
did  so  the  gas,  bubbling  through,  made  a  blackish 
precipitate. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  druggist  curiously. 

"Lead  sulphide,"  replied  Kennedy,  stroking  his 
chin.  "This  is  an  extremely  delicate  test.  Why,  one 
can  get  a  distinct  brownish  tinge  if  lead  is  present  in 
even  incredibly  minute  quantities." 

He  continued  to  work  over  the  vials  ranged  on 
the  table  before  him. 

"The  water  contains,  I  should  say,  from  ten  to 
fifteen  hundredths  of  a  grain  of  lead  to  the  gallon," 
he  remarked  finally. 

"Where  did  it  come  from?"  asked  the  druggist, 
unable  longer  to  restrain  his  curiosity. 

"I  got  it  up  at  Pearcy's,"  Kennedy  replied  frankly, 


THE  LEAD  POISONER  299 

turning  to  observe  whether  the  druggist  might  be- 
tray any  knowledge  of  it. 

"That's  strange,"  he  replied  in  genuine  surprise. 
"Our  water  in  Stratfield  is  supplied  by  a  company 
to  a  large  area,  and  it  has  always  seemed  to  me  to 
be  of  great  organic  purity." 

"But  the  pipes  are  of  lead,  are  they  not?"  asked 
Kennedy. 

"Y-yes,"  answered  the  druggist,  "I  think  in  most 
places  the  service  pipes  are  of  lead.  But,"  he  added 
earnestly  as  he  saw  the  implication  of  his  admission, 
"water  has  never  to  my  knowledge  been  found  to 
attack  the  pipes  so  as  to  affect  its  quality  injuri- 
ously." 

He  turned  his  own  faucet  and  drew  a  glassful. 
"It  is  normally  quite  clear,"  he  added,  holding  the 
glass  up. 

It  was  in  fact  perfectly  clear,  and  when  he  passed 
some  of  the  gas  through  it  nothing  happened  at  all. 

Just  then  a  man  lounged  into  the  store. 

"Hello,  Doctor,"  greeted  the  druggist.  "Here 
are  a  couple  of  fellows  that  have  been  investigating 
the  water  up  at  Pearcy's.  They've  found  lead  in  it. 
That  ought  to  interest  you.  This  is  Dr.  Gunther," 
he  introduced,  turning  to  us. 

It  was  an  unexpected  encounter,  one  I  imagine 
that  Kennedy  might  have  preferred  to  take  place 
under  other  circumstances.  But  he  was  equal  to  the 
occasion. 

"We've  been  sent  up  here  to  look  into  the  case 
for  the  New  York  Star,"  Kennedy  said  quickly.  "I 
intended  to  come  around  to  see  you,  but  you  have 
saved  me  the  trouble." 

Dr.  Gunther  looked  from  one  of  us  to  the  other. 
"Seems  to  me  the  New  York  papers  ought  to  have 


300  THE  WAR  TERROR 

enough  to  do  without  sending  men  all  over  the  coun- 
try making  news,"  he  grunted. 

"Well,"  drawled  Kennedy  quietly,  "there  seems 
to  be  a  most  remarkable  situation  up  there  at 
Pearcy's  and  Minturn's,  too.  As  nearly  as  I  can 
make  out  several  people  there  are  suffering  from  un- 
mistakable signs  of  lead  poisoning.  There  are  the 
pains  in  the  stomach,  the  colic,  and  then  on  the  gums 
is  that  characteristic  line  of  plumbic  sulphide,  the 
distinctive  mark  produced  by  lead.  There  is  the 
wrist-drop,  the  eyesight  affected,  the  partial  paraly- 
sis, the  hallucinations  and  a  condition  in  old  Pearcy's 
case  almost  bordering  on  insanity — to  enumerate  the 
symptoms  that  seem  to  be  present  in  varying  degrees 
in  various  persons  in  the  two  houses." 

Gunther  looked  at  Kennedy,  as  if  in  doubt  just 
how  to  take  him. 

"That's  what  the  coroner  says,  too — lead  poison- 
ing," put  in  the  druggist,  himself  as  keen  as  anyone 
else  for  a  piece  of  local  news,  and  evidently  not 
averse  to  stimulating  talk  from  Dr.  Gunther,  who 
had  been  Pearcy's  physician. 

"That  all  seems  to  be  true  enough,"  replied  Gun- 
ther at  length  guardedly.  "I  recognized  that  some 
time  ago." 

"Why  do  you  think  it  affects  each  so  differently?" 
asked  the  druggist. 

Dr.  Gunther  settled  himselr  easily  back  in  a  chair 
to  speak  as  one  having  authority.  "Well,"  he  began 
slowly,  "Miss  Pearcy,  of  course,  hasn't  been  living 
there  much  until  lately.  As  for  the  others,  perhaps 
this  gentleman  here  from  the  Star  knows  that  lead, 
once  absorbed,  may  remain  latent  in  the  system  and 
then  make  itself  felt.  It  is  like  arsenic,  an  accumula- 
tive poison,  slowly  collecting  in  the  body  until  the 


THE  LEAD  POISONER  30 1 

limit  is  reached,  or  until  the  body,  becoming  weak- 
ened from  some  other  cause,  gives  way  to  it." 

He  shifted  his  position  slowly,  and  went  on,  as  if 
defending  the  course  of  action  he  had  taken  in  the 
case. 

"Then,  too,  you  know,  there  is  an  individual  as 
well  as  family  and  sex  susceptibility  to  lead.  Women 
are  especially  liable  to  lead  poisoning,  but  then  per- 
haps in  this  case  Mrs.  Pearcy  comes  of  a  family  that 
is  very  resistant.  There  are  many  factors.  Per- 
sonally, I  don't  think  Pearcy  himself  was  resistant. 
Perhaps  Minturn  was  not,  either.  At  any  rate,  after 
Pearcy's  death,  it  was  I  who  advised  Minturn  to 
take  the  electrolysis  cure  in  New  York.  I  took  him 
down  there,"  added  Gunther.  "Confound  it,  I  wish 
I  had  stayed  with  him.  But  I  always  found  Joseph- 
son  perfectly  reliable  in  hydrotherapy  with  other  pa- 
tients I  sent  to  him,  and  I  understood  that  he  had 
been  very  successful  with  cases  sent  to  him  by  many 
physicians  in  the  city." 

He  paused  and  I  waited  anxiously  to  see  whether 
Kennedy  would  make  some  reference  to  the  discov- 
ery of  the  strychnine  salts. 

"Have  you  any  idea  how  the  lead  poisoning  could 
have  been  caused?"  asked  Kennedy  instead. 

Dr.  Gunther  shook  his  head.  "It  is  a  puzzle  to 
me,"  he  answered.  "I  am  sure  of  only  one  thing.  It 
could  not  be  from  working  in  lead,  for  it  is  needless 
to  say  that  none  of  them  worked." 

"Food?"  Craig  suggested. 

The  doctor  considered.  "I  had  thought  of  that. 
I  know  that  many  cases  of  lead  poisoning  have  been 
traced  to  the  presence  of  the  stuff  in  ordinary  foods, 
drugs  and  drinks.  I  have  examined  the  foods,  es- 
pecially the  bread.     They  don't  use  canned  goods. 


302  THE  WAR  TERROR 

I  even  went  so  far  as  to  examine  the  kitchen  ware 
to  see  if  there  could  be  anything  wrong  with  the 
glazing.  They  don't  drink  wines  and  beers,  into 
which  now  and  then  the  stuff  seems  to  get." 

"You  seem  to  have  a  good  grasp  of  the  subject," 
flattered  Kennedy,  as  we  rose  to  go.  "I  can  hardly 
blame  you  for  neglecting  the  water,  since  everyone 
here  seems  to  be  so  sure  of  the  purity  of  the  supply." 

Gunther  said  nothing.  I  was  not  surprised,  for, 
at  the  very  least,  no  one  likes  to  have  an  outsider 
come  in  and  put  his  finger  directly  on  the  raw  spot. 
What  more  there  might  be  to  it,  I  could  only  con- 
jecture. 

We  left  the  druggist's  and  Kennedy,  glancing  at 
his  watch,  remarked:  "If  you  will  go  down  to  the 
station,  Walter,  and  get  that  package  we  left  there, 
I  shall  be  much  obliged  to  you.  I  want  to  makt 
just  one  more  stop,  at  the  office  of  the  water  com- 
pany, and  I  think  I  shall  just  about  have  time  for  it. 
There's  a  pretty  good  restaurant  across  the  street. 
Meet  me  there,  and  by  that  time  I  shall  know 
whether  to  carry  out  a  little  plan  I  have  outlined  or 
not." 


CHAPTER    XXX 

THE  ELECTROLYTIC  MURDER 

We  dined  leisurely,  which  seemed  strange  to  me, 
for  it  was  not  Kennedy's  custom  to  let  moments  fly 
uselessly  when  he  was  on  a  case.  However,  I  soon 
found  out  why  it  was.  He  was  waiting  for  dark- 
ness.    « 

As  soon  as  the  lights  began  to  glow  in  the  little 
stores  on  the  main  street,  we  sallied  forth,  taking 
the  direction  of  the  Pearcy  and  Minturn  houses. 

On  the  way  he  dropped  into  the  hardware  store 
and  purchased  a  light  spade  and  one  of  the  small 
pocket  electric  flashlights,  about  which  he  wrapped 
a  piece  of  cardboard  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  a 
most  effective  dark  lantern. 

We  trudged  along  in  silence,  occasionally  chang- 
ing from  carrying  the  heavy  package  to  the  light 
spade. 

Both  the  Pearcy  and  Minturn  houses  were  in 
nearly  total  darkness  when  we  arrived.  They  set 
well  back  from  the  road  and  were  plentifully 
shielded  by  shrubbery.  Then,  too,  at  night  it  was 
not  a  much  frequented  neighborhood.  We  could 
easily  hear  the  footsteps  of  anyone  approaching  on 
the  walk,  and  an  occasional  automobile  gliding  past 
did  not  worry  us  in  the  least. 

"I  have  calculated  carefully  from  an  examination 
of  the  water  company's  map,"   said  Craig,    "just 

.303 


3<M  THE  WAR  TERROR 

where  the  water  pipe  of  the  two  houses  branches  off 
from  the  main  in  the  road." 

After  a  measurement  or  two  from  some  land- 
mark, we  set  to  work  a  few  feet  inside,  under  cover 
of  the  bushes  and  the  shadows,  like  two  grave  dig- 
gers. 

Kennedy  had  been  wielding  the  spade  vigorously 
for  a  few  minutes  when  it  touched  something  metal- 
lic. There,  just  beneath  the  frost  line,  we  came  upon 
the  service  pipe. 

He  widened  the  hole,  and  carefully  scraped  off 
the  damp  earth  that  adhered  to  the  pipe.  Next  he 
found  a  valve  where  he  shut  off  the  water  and  cut 
out  a  small  piece  of  the  pipe. 

"I  hope  they  don't  suspect  anything  like  this  in 
the  houses  with  their  water  cut  off,"  he  remarked  as 
he  carefully  split  the  piece  open  lengthwise  and  ex- 
amined it  under  the  light. 

On  the  interior  of  the  pipe  could  be  seen  patchy 
lumps  of  white  which  projected  about  an  eighth  of 
an  inch  above  the  internal  surface.  As  the  pipe 
dried  in  the  warm  night  air,  they  could  easily  be 
brushed  off  as  a  white  powder. 

"What  is  it — strychnine?"  I  asked. 

"No,"  he  replied,  regarding  it  thoughtfully  with 
some  satisfaction.  "That  is  lead  carbonate.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  that  the  turbidity  of  the  water  was 
due  to  this  powder  in  suspension.  A  little  dissolves 
in  the  water,  while  the  scales  and  incrustations  in 
fine  particles  are  carried  along  in  the  current.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  the  amount  necessary  to  make  the  wa- 
ter poisonous  need  not  be  large." 

He  applied  a  little  instrument  to  the  cut  ends  of 
the  pipe.  As  I  bent  over,  I  could  see  the  needle  on 
its  dial  deflected  just  a  bit. 


THE  ELECTROLYTIC  MURDER    305 

"My  voltmeter,"  he  said,  reading  it,  "shows  that 
there  is  a  current  of  about  1.8  volts  passing  through 
this  pipe  all  the  time." 

"Electrolysis  of  water  pipes !"  I  exclaimed,  think- 
ing of  statements  I  had  heard  by  engineers.  "That's 
what  they  mean  by  stray  or  vagabond  currents,  isn't 
it?" 

He  had  seized  the  lantern  and  was  eagerly  fol- 
lowing up  and  down  the  line  of  the  water  pipe.  At 
last  he  stopped,  with  a  low  exclamation,  at  a  point 
where  an  electric  light  wire  supplying  the  Minturn 
cottage  crossed  overhead.  Fastened  inconspicuously 
to  the  trunk  of  a  tree  which  served  as  a  support  for 
the  wire  was  another  wire  which  led  down  from  it 
and  was  buried  in  the  ground. 

Craig  turned  up  the  soft  earth  as  fast  as  he  could, 
until  he  reached  the  pipe  at  this  point.  There  was 
the  buried  wire  wound  several  times  around  it. 

As  quickly  and  as  neatly  as  he  could  he  inserted 
a  connection  between  the  severed  ends  of  the  pipe  to 
restore  the  flow  of  water  to  the  houses,  turned  on 
the  water  and  covered  up  the  holes  he  had  dug. 
Then  he  unwrapped  the  package  which  we  had 
tugged  about  all  day,  and  in  a  narrow  path  between 
the  bushes  which  led  to  the  point  where  the  wire  had 
tapped  the  electric  light  feed  he  placed  in  a  shallow 
hole  in  the  ground  a  peculiar  apparatus. 

As  nearly  as  I  could  make  it  out,  it  consisted  of 
two  flat  platforms  between  which,  covered  over  and 
projected,  was  a  slip  of  paper  which  moved  forward, 
actuated  by  clockwork,  and  pressed  on  by  a  sort  of 
stylus.  Then  he  covered  it  over  lightly  with  dirt  so 
that,  unless  anyone  had  been  looking  for  it,  it  would 
never  be  noticed. 

It  was  late  when  we  reached  the  city  again,  but 


3o6  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Kennedy  had  one  more  piece  of  work  and  that  de- 
volved on  me.  All  the  way  down  on  the  train  he 
had  been  writing  and  rewriting  something. 

"Walter,"  he  said,  as  the  train  pulled  into  the  sta- 
tion, "I  want  that  published  in  to-morrow's  papers." 

I  looked  over  what  he  had  written.  It  was  one 
of  the  most  sensational  stories  I  have  ever  fathered, 
beginning,  "Latest  of  the  victims  of  the  unknown 
poisoner  of  whole  families  in  Stratfield,  Connecticut, 
is  Miss  Isabel  Pearcy,  whose  father,  Randall  Pearcy, 
died  last  week." 

I  knew  that  it  was  a  "plant"  of  some  kind,  for 
so  far  he  had  discovered  no  evidence  that  Miss 
Pearcy  had  been  affected.  What  his  purpose  was,  I 
could  not  guess,  but  I  got  the  story  printed. 

The  next  morning  early  Kennedy  was  quietly  at 
work  in  the  laboratory. 

"What  is  this  treatment  of  lead  poisoning  by 
electrolysis?"  I  asked,  now  that  there  had  come  a 
lull  when  I  might  get  an  intelligible  answer.  "How 
does  it  work?" 

"Brand  new,  Walter,"  replied  Kennedy.  "It  has 
been  discovered  that  ions  will  flow  directly  through 
the  membranes." 

"Ions?"  I  repeated.     "What  are  ions?" 

"Travelers,"  he  answered,  smiling,  "so  named  by 
Faraday  from  the  Greek  verb,  io,  to  go.  They  are 
little  positive  and  negative  charges  of  electricity  of 
which  molecules  are  composed.  You  know  some  be- 
lieve now  that  matter  is  really  composed  of  electrical 
energy.  I  think  I  can  explain  it  best  by  a  simile  I  use 
with  my  classes.  It  is  as  though  you  had  a  ballroom 
in  which  the  dancers  in  couples  represent  the  neutral 
molecules.  There  are  a  certain  number  of  isolated 
ladies  and  gentlemen — dissociated  ions " 


THE  ELECTROLYTIC  MURDER    307 

"Who  don't  know  these  new  dances?"  I  inter- 
rupted. 

"They  all  know  this  dance,"  he  laughed.  "But, 
to  be  serious  in  the  simile,  suppose  at  one  end  of  the 
room  there  is  a  large  mirror  and  at  the  other  a 
buffet  with  cigars  and  champagne.  What  happens  to 
the  dissociated  ions?" 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  want  me  to  say  that  the  la- 
dies gather  about  the  mirror  and  the  men  about  the 
buffet." 

"Exactly.  And  some  of  the  dancing  partners 
separate  and  follow  the  crowd.  Well,  that  room 
presents  a  picture  of  what  happens  in  an  electrolytic 
solution  at  the  moment  when  the  electric  current  is 
passing  through  it." 

"Thanks,"  I  laughed.  "That  was  quite  adequate 
to  my  immature  understanding." 

Kennedy  continued  at  work,  checking  up  and  ar- 
ranging his  data  until  the  middle  of  the  afternoon, 
when  he  went  up  to  Stratfield. 

Having  nothing  better  to  do,  I  wandered  out 
about  town  in  the  hope  of  running  across  some  one 
with  whom  to  while  away  the  hours  until  Kennedy 
returned.  I  found  out  that,  since  yesterday,  Broad- 
way had  woven  an  entirely  new  background  for  the 
mystery.  Now  it  was  rumored  that  the  lawyer 
Minturn  himself  had  been  on  very  intimate  terms 
with  Mrs.  Pearcy.  I  did  not  pay  much  atten- 
tion to  the  rumor,  for  I  knew  that  Broadway  is 
constitutionally  unable  to  believe  that  anybody  is 
straight. 

Kennedy  had  commissioned  me  to  keep  in  touch 
with  Josephson  and  I  finally  managed  to  get  around 
to  the  Baths,  to  find  them  still  closed. 

As  I  was  talking  with  him,  a  very  muddy  and 


308  THE  WAR  TERROR 

dusty  car  pulled  up  at  the  door  and  a  young  man 
whose  face  was  marred  by  the  red  congested  blood 
vessels  that  are  in  some  a  mark  of  dissipation  burst 
in  on  us. 

"What  —  closed  up  yet  —  Joe?"  he  asked. 
"Haven't  they  taken  Minturn's  body  away?" 

"Yes,  it  was  sent  up  to  Stratfield  to-day,"  replied 
the  masseur,  "but  the  coroner  seems  to  want  to 
worry  me  all  he  can." 

"Too  bad.  I  was  up  almost  all  last  night,  and 
to-day  I  have  been  out  in  my  car — tired  to  death. 
Thought  I  might  get  some  rest  here.  Where  are 
you  sending  the  boys — to  the  Longacre?" 

"Yes.  They'll  take  good  care  of  you  till  I  open 
up  again.  Hope  to  see  you  back  again,  then,  Mr. 
Pearcy,"  he  added,  as  the  young  man  turned  and 
hurried  out  to  his  car  again.  "That  was  that  young 
Pearcy,  you  know.  Nice  boy — but  living  the  life  too 
fast.    What's  Kennedy  doing — anything?" 

I  did  not  like  the  jaunty  bravado  of  the  masseur 
which  now  seemed  to  be  returning,  since  nothing 
definite  had  taken  shape.  I  determined  that  he 
should  not  pump  me,  as  he  evidently  was  trying  to 
do.  I  had  at  least  fulfilled  Kennedy's  commission 
and  felt  that  the  sooner  I  left  Josephson  the  better 
for  both  of  us. 

I  was  surprised  at  dinner  to  receive  a  wire  from 
Craig  saying  that  he  was  bringing  down  Dr.  Gun- 
ther,  Mrs.  Pearcy  and  Isabel  to  New  York  and  ask- 
ing me  to  have  Warner  Pearcy  and  Josephson  at 
the  laboratory  at  nine  o'clock. 

By  strategy  I  managed  to  persuade  Pearcy  to 
come,  and  as  for  Josephson,  he  could  not  very  well 
escape,  though  I  saw  that  as  long  as  nothing  more 
had  happened,  he  was  more  interested  in  "fixing" 


THE  ELECTROLYTIC  MURDER    309 

the  police  so  that  he  could  resume  business  than  any- 
thing else. 

As  we  entered  the  laboratory  that  night,  Kennedy, 
who  had  left  his  party  at  a  downtown  hotel  to 
freshen  up,  met  us  each  at  the  door.  Instead  of 
conducting  us  in  front  of  his  laboratory  table,  which 
was  the  natural  way,  he  led  us  singly  around  through 
the  narrow  space  back  of  it. 

I  recall  that  as  I  followed  him,  I  half  imagined 
that  the  floor  gave  way  just  a  bit,  and  there  flashed 
over  me,  by  a  queer  association  of  ideas,  the  recol- 
lection of  having  visited  an  amusement  park  not 
long  before  where  merely  stepping  on  an  innocent- 
looking  section  of  the  flooring  had  resulted  in  a  tre- 
mendous knocking  and  banging  beneath,  much  to 
the  delight  of  the  lovers  of  slap-stick  humor.  This 
was  serious  business,  however,  and  I  quickly  ban- 
ished the  frivolous  thought  from  my  mind. 

"The  discovery  of  poison,  and  its  identification," 
began  Craig  at  last  when  we  had  all  arrived  and 
were  seated  about  him,  "often  involves  not  only 
the  use  of  chemistry  but  also  a  knowledge  of  the 
chemical  effect  of  the  poison  on  the  body,  and  the 
gross  as  well  as  microscopic  changes  which  it  pro- 
duces in  various  tissues  and  organs — changes,  some 
due  to  mere  contact,  others  to  the  actual  chemico- 
physiological  reaction  between  the  poison  and  the 
body." 

His  hand  was  resting  on  the  poles  of  a  large  bat- 
tery, as  he  proceeded:  "Every  day  the  medical  de- 
tective plays  a  more  and  more  important  part  in  the 
detection  of  crime,  and  I  might  say  that,  except  in 
the  case  of  crime  complicated  by  a  lunacy  plea,  his 
work  has  earned  the  respect  of  the  courts  and  of  de- 
tectives, while  in  the  case  of  insanity  the  discredit 


310  THE  WAR  TERROR 

is  the  fault  rather  of  the  law  itself.  The  ways  in 
which  the  doctor  can  be  of  use  *n  untangling  the 
facts  in  many  forms  of  crime  have  become  so  nu- 
merous that  the  profession  of  medical  detective  may 
almost  be  called  a  specialty." 

Kennedy  repeated  what  he  had  already  told  me 
about  electrolysis,  then  placed  between  the  poles  o£ 
the  battery  a  large  piece  of  raw  beef. 

He  covered  the  negative  electrode  with  blotting 
paper  and  soaked  it  in  a  beaker  near  at  hand. 

"This  solution,"  he  explained,  "is  composed  of 
potassium  iodide.  In  this  other  beaker  I  have  a 
mixture  of  ordinary  starch." 

He  soaked  the  positive  electrode  in  the  starch  and 
then  jammed  the  twd  against  the  soft  red  meat. 
Then  he  applied  the  current. 

A  few  moments  later  he  withdrew  the  positive 
electrode.     Both  it  and  the  meat  under  it  were  blue  ! 

"What  has  happened?"  he  asked.  "The  iodine 
ions  have  actually  passed  through  the  beef  to  the 
positive  pole  and  the  paper  on  the  electrode.  Here 
we  have  starch  iodide." 

It  was  a  startling  idea,  this  of  the  introduction  of 
a  substance  by  electrolysis. 

"I  may  say,"  he  resumed,  "that  the  medical  view 
of  electricity  is  changing,  due  in  large  measure  to 
the  genius  of  the  Frenchman,  Dr.  Leduc.  The  body, 
we  know,  is  composed  largely  of  water,  with  salts 
of  soda  and  potash.  It  is  an  excellent  electrolyte. 
Yet  most  doctors  regard  the  introduction  of  sub- 
stances by  the  electric  current  as  insignificant  or  non- 
existent. But  on  the  contrary  the  introduction  of 
drugs  by  electrolysis  is  regular  and  far  from  being 
insignificant  may  very  easily  bring  about  death. 

"That  action,"  he  went  on,  looking  from  one  of 


THE  ELECTROLYTIC  MURDER    311 

us  to  another,  "may  be  therapeutic,  as  in  the  cure 
for  lead  poisoning  by  removing  the  lead,  or  it  may 
be  toxic — as  in  the  case  of  actually  introducing  such 
a  poison  as  strychnine  into  the  body  by  the  same 
forces  that  will  remove  the  lead." 

He  paused  a  moment,  to  enforce  the  point  which 
had  already  been  suggested.  I  glanced  about  hastily. 
If  anyone  in  his  little  audience  was  guilty,  no  one 
betrayed  it,  for  all  were  following  him,  fascinated. 
Yet  in  the  wildly  throbbing  brain  of  some  one  of 
them  the  guilty  knowledge  must  be  seared  indelibly. 
Would  the  mere  accusation  be  enough  to  dissociate 
the  truth  from  that  brain  or  would  Kennedy  have  to 
resort  to  other  means? 

"Some  one,"  he  went  on,  in  a  low,  tense  voice, 
leaning  forward,  "some  one  who  knew  this  effect 
placed  strychnine  salts  on  one  of  the  electrodes  of 
the  bath  which  Owen  Minturn  was  to  use." 

He  did  not  pause.  Evidently  he  was  planning  to 
let  the  force  of  his  exposure  be  cumulative,  until 
from  its  sheer  momentum  it  carried  everything  be- 
fore it. 

"Walter,"  he  ordered  quickly.  "Lend  me  a 
hand." 

Together  we  moved  the  laboratory  table  as  he 
directed. 

There,  in  the  floor,  concealed  by  the  shadow,  he 
had  placed  the  same  apparatus  which  I  had  seen  him 
bury  in  the  path  between  the  Pearcy  and  Minturn 
estates  at  Stratfield. 

We  scarcely  breathed. 

"This,"  he  explained  rapidly,  "is  what  is  known 
as  a  kinograph — the  invention  of  Professor  Hele- 
Shaw  of  London.  It  enables  me  to  identify  a  per- 
son by  his  or  her  walk.    Each  of  you  as  you  entered 


312  THE  WAR  TERROR 

this  room  has  passed  over  this  apparatus  and  has 
left  a  different  mark  on  the  paper  which  registers." 

For  a  moment  he  stopped,  as  if  gathering  strength 
for  the  final  assault. 

"Until  late  this  afternoon  I  had  this  kinograph 
secreted  at  a  certain  place  in  Stratfield.  Some  one 
had  tampered  with  the  leaden  water  pipes  and  the 
electric  light  cable.  Fearful  that  the  lead  poisoning 
brought  on  by  electrolysis  might  not  produce  its  re- 
sult in  the  intended  victim,  that  person  took  advan- 
tage of  the  new  discoveries  in  electrolysis  to  complete 
that  work  by  introducing  the  deadly  strychnine  dur- 
ing the  very  process  of  cure  of  the  lead  poisoning." 

He  slapped  down  a  copy  of  a  newspaper.  "In  the 
news  this  morning  I  told  just  enough  of  what  I  had 
discovered  and  colored  it  in  such  a  way  that  I  was 
sure  I  would  arouse  apprehension.  I  did  it  because 
I  wanted  to  make  the  criminal  revisit  the  real  scene 
of  the  crime.  There  was  a  double  motive  now — to 
remove  the  evidence  and  to  check  the  spread  of  the 
poisoning." 

He  reached  over,  tore  off  the  paper  with  a  quick, 
decisive  motion,  and  laid  it  beside  another  strip,  a 
little  discolored  by  moisture,  as  though  the  damp 
earth  had  touched  it. 

"That  person,  alarmed  lest  something  in  the  clev- 
erly laid  plot,  might  be  discovered,  went  to  a  cer- 
tain spot  to  remove  the  traces  of  the  diabolical  work 
which  were  hidden  there.  My  kinograph  shows  the 
footsteps,  shows  as  plainly  as  if  I  had  been  present, 
the  exact  person  who  tried  to  obliterate  the  evi- 
dence." 

An  ashen  pallor  seemed  to  spread  over  the  face 
of  Miss  Pearcy,  as  Kennedy  shot  out  the  words. 

"That  person,"  he  emphasized,  "had  planned  to 


THE  ELECTROLYTIC  MURDER    313 

put  out  of  the  way  one  who  had  brought  disgrace  on 
the  Pearcy  family.    It  was  an  act  of  private  justice." 

Mrs.  Pearcy  could  stand  the  strain  no  longer. 
She  had  broken  down  and  was  weeping  incoherently. 
I  strained  my  ears  to  catch  what  she  was  murmuring. 
It  was  Minturn's  name,  not  Gunther's,  that  was  on 
her  lips. 

"But,"  cried  Kennedy,  raising  an  accusatory  fin- 
ger from  the  kinograph  tracing  and  pointing  it  like 
the  finger  of  Fate  itself,  "but  the  self-appointed 
avenger  forgot  that  the  leaden  water  pipe  was  com- 
mon to  the  two  houses.  Old  Mr.  Pearcy,  the 
wronged,  died  first.  Isabel  has  guessed  the  family 
skeleton — has  tried  hard  to  shield  you,  but,  Warner 
Pearcy,  you  are  the  murderer  1" 


21 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

THE  EUGENIC  BRIDE 

Scandal,  such  as  that  which  Kennedy  unearthed 
in  this  Pearcy  case,  was  never  much  to  his  liking, 
yet  he  seemed  destined,  about  this  period  of  his  ca- 
reer, to  have  a  good  deal  of  it. 

We  had  scarcely  finished  with  the  indictment  that 
followed  the  arrest  of  young  Pearcy,  when  we  were 
confronted  by  a  situation  which  was  as  unique  as 
it  was  intensely  modern. 

"There's  absolutely  no  insanity  in  Eugenia's  fam- 
ily," I  heard  a  young  man  remark  to  Kennedy,  as 
my  key  turned  in  the  lock  of  the  laboratory  door. 

For  a  moment  I  hesitated  about  breaking  in  on  a 
confidential  conference,  then  reflected  that,  as  they 
had  probably  already  heard  me  at  the  lock,  I  had 
better  go  in  and  excuse  myself. 

As  I  swung  the  door  open,  I  saw  a  young  man 
pacing  up  and  down  the  laboratory  nervously,  too 
preoccupied  even  to  notice  the  slight  noise  I  had 
made. 

He  paused  in  his  nervous  walk  and  faced  Ken- 
nedy, his  back  to  me. 

"Kennedy,"  he  said  huskily,  "I  wouldn't  care  if 
there  was  insanity  in  her  family — for,  my  God ! — the 
tragedy  of  it  all  now — I  love  her!" 

He  turned,  following  Kennedy's  eyes  in  my  direc- 
tion, and  I  saw  on  his  face  the  most  haggard,  haunt- 

314 


THE  EUGENIC  BRIDE  315 

ing  look  of  anxiety  that  I  had  ever  seen  on  a  young 
person. 

Instantly  I  recognized  from  the  pictures  I  had 
seen  in  the  newspapers  young  Quincy  Atherton,  the 
last  of  this  famous  line  of  the  family,  who  had  at- 
tracted a  great  deal  of  attention  several  months 
previously  by  what  the  newspapers  had  called  his 
search  through  society  for  a  "eugenics  bride,"  to 
infuse  new  blood  into  the  Atherton  stock. 

"You  need  have  no  fear  that  Mr.  Jameson  will 
be  like  the  other  newspaper  men,"  reassured  Craig, 
as  he  introduced  us,  mindful  of  the  prejudice  which 
the  unpleasant  notoriety  of  Atherton' s  marriage  had 
already  engendered  in  his  mind. 

I  recalled  that  when  I  had  first  heard  of  Ather- 
ton's "eugenic  marriage,"  I  had  instinctively  felt  a 
prejudice  against  the  very  idea  of  such  cold,  cal- 
culating, materialistic,  scientific  mating,  as  if  one  of 
the  last  fixed  points  were  disappearing  in  the  chaos 
of  the  social  and  sex  upheaval. 

Now,  I  saw  that  one  great  fact  of  life  must  always 
remain.  We  might  ride  in  hydroaeroplanes,  delve 
into  the  very  soul  by  psychanalysis,  perhaps  even  run 
our  machines  by  the  internal  forces  of  radium — even 
marry  according  to  Galton  or  Mendel.  But  there 
would  always  be  love,  deep  passionate  love  of  the 
man  for  the  woman,  love  which  all  the  discoveries 
of  science  might  perhaps  direct  a  little  less  blindly, 
but  the  consuming  flame  of  which  not  all  the  cold- 
ness of  science  could  ever  quench.  No  tampering 
with  the  roots  of  human  nature  could  ever  change 
the  roots. 

I  must  say  that  I  rather  liked  young  Atherton. 
He  had  a  frank,  open  face,  the  most  prominent 
feature  of  which  was  his  somewhat  aristocratic  nose. 


316  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Otherwise  he  impressed  one  as  being  the  victim  of 
heredity  in  faults,  if  at  all  serious,  against  which  he 
was  struggling  heroically. 

It  was  a  most  pathetic  story  which  he  told,  a  story 
of  how  his  family  had  degenerated  from  the  strong 
stock  of  his  ancestors  until  he  was  the  last  of  the 
line.  He  told  of  his  education,  how  he  had  fallen, 
a  rather  wild  youth  bent  in  the  footsteps  of  his 
father  who  had  been  a  notoriously  good  clubfellow, 
under  the  influence  of  a  college  professor,  Dr. 
Crafts,  a  classmate  of  his  father's,  of  how  the  pro- 
fessor had  carefully  and  persistently  fostered  in  him 
an  idea  that  had  completely  changed  him. 

"Crafts  always  said  it  was  a  case  of  eugenics 
against  euthenics,"  remarked  Atherton,  "of  birth 
against  environment.  He  would  tell  me  over  and 
over  that  birth  gave  me  the  clay,  and  it  wasn't  such 
bad  clay  after  all,  but  that  environment  would  shape 
the  vessel." 

Then  Atherton  launched  into  a  description  of  how 
he  had  striven  to  find  a  girl  who  had  the  strong 
qualities  his  family  germ  plasm  seemed  to  have  lost, 
mainly,  I  gathered,  resistance  to  a  taint  much  like 
manic  depressive  insanity.  And  as  he  talked,  it  was 
borne  in  on  me  that,  after  all,  contrary  to  my  first 
prejudice,  there  was  nothing  very  romantic  indeed 
about  disregarding  the  plain  teachings  of  science 
on  the  subject  of  marriage  and  one's  children. 

In  his  search  for  a  bride,  Dr.  Crafts,  who  had 
founded  a  sort  of  Eugenics  Bureau,  had  come  to  ad- 
vise him.  Others  may  have  looked  up  their  brides 
in  Bradstreet's,  or  at  least  the  Social  Register. 
Atherton  had  gone  higher,  had  been  overjoyed  to 
find  that  a  girl  he  had  met  in  the  West,  Eugenia 
Gilman,  measured  up  to  what  his  friend  told  him 


THE  EUGENIC  BRIDE  317 

were  the  latest  teachings  of  science.  He  had  been 
overjoyed  because,  long  before  Crafts  had  told  him, 
he  had  found  out  that  he  loved  her  deeply. 

"And  now,"  he  went  on,  half  choking  with  emo- 
tion, "she  is  apparently  suffering  from  just  the  same 
sort  of  depression  as  I  myself  might  suffer  from  if 
the  recessive  trait  became  active." 

"What  do  you  mean,  for  instance?"  asked  Craig. 
"Well,  for  one  thing,  she  has  the  delusion  that 
my  relatives  are  persecuting  her." 

"Persecuting  her?"  repeated  Craig,  stifling  the 
remark  that  that  was  not  in  itself  a  new  thing  in  this 
or  any  other  family.     "How?" 

"Oh,  making  her  feel  that,  after  all,  it  is  Ather- 
ton  family  rather  than  Gilman  health  that  counts — 
little  remarks  that  when  our  baby  is  born,  they  hope 
it  will  resemble  Quincy  rather  than  Eugenia,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  only  worse  and  more  cutting,  until 
the  thing  has  begun  to  prey  on  her  mind." 

"I  see,"  remarked  Kennedy  thoughtfully.  "But 
don't  you  think  this  is  a  case  for  a — a  doctor,  rather 
than  a  detective?" 

Atherton  glanced  up  quickly.  "Kennedy,"  he  an- 
swered slowly,  "where  millions  of  dollars  are  in- 
volved, no  one  can  guess  to  what  lengths  the  human 
mind  will  go — no  one,  except  you." 

"Then  you  have  suspicions  of  something  worse?" 

"Y-yes — but  nothing  definite.  Now,  take  this  case. 
If  I  should  die  childless,  after  my  wife,  the  Ather- 
ton estate  would  descend  to  my  nearest  relative, 
Burroughs  Atherton,  a  cousin." 

"Unless  you  willed  it  to " 

"I  have  already  drawn  a  will,"  he  interrupted, 
"and  in  case  I  survive  Eugenia  and  die  childless,  the 
money  goes  to  the  founding  of  a  larger  Eugenics 


318  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Bureau,  to  prevent  in  the  future,  as  much  as  possi- 
ble, tragedies  such  as  this  of  which  I  find  myself  a 
part.  If  the  case  is  reversed,  Eugenia  will  get  her 
third  and  the  remainder  will  go  to  the  Bureau  or 
the  Foundation,  as  I  call  the  new  venture.  But," 
and  here  young  Atherton  leaned  forward  and  fixed 
his  large  eyes  keenly  on  us,  "Burroughs  might  break 
the  will.  He  might  show  that  I  was  of  unsound 
mind,  or  that  Eugenia  was,  too." 

"Are  there  no  other  relatives?" 

"Burroughs  is  the  nearest,"  he  replied,  then 
added  frankly,  "I  have  a  second  cousin,  a  young 
lady  named  Edith  Atherton,  with  whom  both  Bur- 
roughs and  I  used  to  be  very  friendly." 

It  was  evident  from  the  way  he  spoke  that  he 
had  thought  a  great  deal  about  Edith  Atherton,  and 
still  thought  well  of  her. 

"Your  wife  thinks  it  is  Burroughs  who  is  perse- 
cuting her?"  asked  Kennedy. 

Atherton  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Does  she  get  along  badly  with  Edith?  She 
knows  her  I  presume?" 

"Of  course.  The  fact  is  that  since  the  death  of 
her  mother,  Edith  has  been  living  with  us.  She  is 
a  splendid  girl,  and  all  alone  in  the  world  now,  and  I 
had  hopes  that  in  New  York  she  might  meet  some 
one  and  marry  well." 

Kennedy  was  looking  squarely  at  Atherton,  won- 
dering whether  he  might  ask  a  question  without 
seeming  impertinent.  Atherton  caught  the  look, 
read  it,  and  answered  quite  frankly,  "To  tell  the 
truth,  I  suppose  I  might  have  married  Edith,  before 
I  met  Eugenia,  if  Professor  Crafts  had  not  dis- 
suaded me.  But  it  wouldn't  have  been  real  love — 
nor  wise.     You  know,"  he  went  on  more  frankly, 


THE  EUGENIC  BRIDE  319 

now  that  the  first  hesitation  was  over  and  he  realized 
that  if  he  were  to  gain  anything  at  all  by  Kennedy's 
services,  there  must  be  the  utmost  candor  between 
them,  "you  know  cousins  may  marry  if  the  stocks  are 
known  to  be  strong.  But  if  there  is  a  defect,  it  is 
almost  sure  to  be  intensified.  And  so  I — I  gave  up 
the  idea — never  had  it,  in  fact,  so  strongly  as  to  pro- 
pose to  her.  And  when  I  met  Eugenia  all  the  Ather- 
tons  on  the  family  tree  couldn't  have  bucked  up 
against  the  combination." 

He  was  deadly  in  earnest  as  he  arose  from  the 
chair  into  which  he  had  dropped  after  I  came  in. 

"Oh,  it's  terrible — this  haunting  fear,  this  obses- 
sion that  I  have  had,  that,  in  spite  of  all  I  have  tried 
to  do,  some  one,  somehow,  will  defeat  me.  Then 
comes  the  situation,  just  at  a  time  when  Eugenia  and 
I  feel  that  we  have  won  against  Fate,  and  she  in 
particular  needs  all  the  consideration  and  care  in 
the  world — and — and  I  am  defeated." 

Atherton  was  again  pacing  the  laboratory. 

"I  have  my  car  waiting  outside,"  he  pleaded.  "I 
wish  you  would  go  with  me  to  see  Eugenia — now." 

It  was  impossible  to  resist  him.  Kennedy  rose 
and  I  followed,  not  without  a  trace  of  misgiving. 

The  Atherton  mansion  was  one  of  the  old  houses 
of  the  city,  a  somber  stone  dwelling  with  a  garden 
about  it  on  a  downtown  square,  on  which  business 
was  already  encroaching.  We  were  admitted  by  a 
servant  who  seemed  to  walk  over  the  polished  floors 
with  stealthy  step  as  if  there  was  something  sacred 
about  even  the  Atherton  silence.  As  we  waited  in 
a  high-ceilinged  drawing-room  with  exquisite  old 
tapestries,  on  the  walls,  I  could  not  help  feeling  my- 
self the  influence  of  wealth  and  birth  that  seemed  to 
cry  out  from  every  object  of  art  in  the  house. 


320  THE  WAR  TERROR 

On  the  longer  wall  of  the  room,  I  saw  a  group  of 
paintings.  One,  I  noted  especially,  must  have  been 
Atherton's  ancestor,  the  founder  of  the  line.  There 
was  the  same  nose  in  Atherton,  for  instance,  a  strik- 
ing instance  of  heredity.  I  studied  the  face  care- 
fully. There  was  every  element  of  strength  in  it, 
and  I  thought  instinctively  that,  whatever  might 
have  been  the  effects  of  in-breeding  and  bad  alli- 
ances, there  must  still  be  some  of  that  strength  left 
in  the  present  descendant  of  the  house  of  Ather- 
ton. The  more  I  thought  about  the  house,  the 
portrait,  the  whole  case,  the  more  unable  was  I  to 
get  out  of  my  head  a  feeling  that  though  I  had 
not  been  in  such  a  position  before,  I  had  at  least 
read  or  heard  something  of  which  it  vaguely  re- 
minded me. 

Eugenia  Atherton  was  reclining  listlessly  in  her 
room  in  a  deep  leather  easy  chair,  when  Atherton 
took  us  up  at  last.  She  did  not  rise  to  greet  us,  but 
I  noted  that  she  was  attired  in  what  Kennedy  once 
called,  as  we  strolled  up  the  Avenue,  "the  expensive 
sloppiness  of  the  present  styles."  In  her  case  the 
looseness  with  which  her  clothes  hung  was  exag- 
gerated by  the  lack  of  energy  with  which  she  wore 
them. 

She  had  been  a  beautiful  girl,  I  knew.  In  fact, 
one  could  see  that  she  must  have  been.  Now,  how- 
ever, she  showed  marks  of  change.  Her  eyes  were 
large,  and  protruding,  not  with  the  fire  of  passion 
which  is  often  associated  with  large  eyes,  but  dully, 
set  in  a  puffy  face,  a  trifle  florid.  Her  hands  seemed, 
when  she  moved  them,  to  shake  with  an  involuntary 
tremor,  and  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  one  almost  could 
feel  that  her  heart  and  lungs  were  speeding  with 
energy,  she  had  lost  weight  and  no  longer  had  the 


THE  EUGENIC  BRIDE  321 

full,  rounded  figure  of  health.  Her  manner  showed 
severe  mental  disturbance,  indifference,  depression,  a 
distressing  deterioration.  All  her  attractive  Western 
breeziness  was  gone.  One  felt  the  tragedy  of  it 
only  too  keenly. 

"I  have  asked  Professor  Kennedy,  a  specialist,  to 
call,  my  dear,"  said  Atherton  gently,  without  men- 
tioning what  the  specialty  was. 

"Another  one?"  she  queried  languorously. 

There  was  a  colorless  indifference  in  the  tone 
which  was  almost  tragic.  She  said  the  words  slowly 
and  deliberately,  as  though  even  her  mind  worked 
that  way. 

From  the  first,  I  saw  that  Kennedy  had  been  ob- 
serving Eugenia  Atherton  keenly.  And  in  the  role 
of  specialist  in  nervous  diseases  he  was  enabled  to 
do  what  otherwise  would  have  been  difficult  to  ac- 
complish. 

Gradually,  from  observing  her  mental  condition 
of  indifference  which  made  conversation  extremely 
difficult  as  well  as  profitless,  he  began  to  consider  her 
physical  condition.  I  knew  him  well  enough  to 
gather  from  his  manner  alone  as  he  went  on  that 
what  had  seemed  at  the  start  to  be  merely  a  curious 
case,  because  it  concerned  the  Athertons,  was  loom- 
ing up  in  his  mind  as  unusual  in  itself,  and  was  in- 
teresting him  because  it  baffled  him. 

Craig  had  just  discovered  that  her  pulse  was  ab- 
normally high,  and  that  consequently  she  had  a  high 
temperature,  and  was  sweating  profusely. 

"Would  you  mind  turning  your  head,  Mrs.  Ather- 
ton?" he  asked. 

She  turned  slowly,  half  way,  her  eyes  fixed  va- 
cantly on  the  floor  until  we  could  see  the  once  strik- 
ing profile. 


322  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"Nd,  all  the  way  around,  if  you  please,"  added 
Kennedy. 

She  offered  no  objection,  not  the  slightest  resist- 
ance. As  she  turned  her  head  as  far  as  she  could, 
Kennedy  quickly  placed  his  forefinger  and  thumb 
gently  on  her  throat,  the  once  beautiful  throat,  now 
with  skin  harsh  and  rough.  Softly  he  moved  his 
fingers  just  a  fraction  of  an  inch  over  the  so-called 
"Adam's  apple"  and  around  it  for  a  little  distance. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said.  "Now  around  to  the  other 
side." 

He  made  no  other  remark  as  he  repeated  the 
process,  but  I  fancied  I  could  tell  that  he  had  had  an 
instant  suspicion  of  something  the  moment  he 
touched  her  throat. 

He  rose  abstractedly,  bowed,  and  we  started  to 
leave  the  room,  uncertain  whether  she  knew  or 
cared.  Quincy  had  fixed  his  eyes  silently  on  Craig, 
as  if  imploring  him  to  speak,  but  I  knew  how  un- 
likely that  was  until  he  had  confirmed  his  suspicion 
to  the  last  slightest  detail. 

We  were  passing  through  a  dressing  room  in  the 
suite  when  we  met  a  tall  young  woman,  whose  face  I 
instantly  recognized,  not  because  I  had  ever  seen  it 
before,  but  because  she  had  the  Atherton  nose  so 
prominently  developed. 

"My  cousin,  Edith,"  introduced  Quincy. 

We  bowed  and  stood  for  a  moment  chatting. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  reason  why  we  should  leave 
the  suite,  since  Mrs.  Atherton  paid  so  little  atten- 
tion to  us  even  when  we  had  been  in  the  same  room. 
Yet  a  slight  movement  in  her  room  told  me  that  in 
spite  of  her  lethargy  she  seemed  to  know  that  we 
were  there  and  to  recognize  who  had  joined  us. 

Edith  Atherton  was  a  noticeable  woman,  a  woman 


THE  EUGENIC  BRIDE  323 

of  temperament,  not  beautiful  exactly,  but  with  a 
stateliness  about  her,  an  aloofness.  The  more  I 
studied  her  face,  with  its  thin  sensitive  lips  and  com- 
manding, almost  imperious  eyes,  the  more  there 
seemed  to  be  something  peculiar  about  her.  She 
was  dressed  very  simply  in  black,  but  it  was  the  sim- 
plicity that  costs.  One  thing  was  quite  evident — 
her  pride  in  the  family  of  Atherton. 

And  as  we  talked,  it  seemed  to  be  that  she,  much 
more  than  Eugenia  in  her  former  blooming  health, 
was  a  part  of  the  somber  house.  There  came  over 
me  again  the  impression  I  had  received  before  that  I 
had  read  or  heard  something  like  this  case  before. 

She  did  not  linger  long,  but  continued  her  stately 
way  into  the  room  where  Eugenia  sat.  And  at  once 
it  flashed  over  me  what  my  impression,  indefinable, 
half  formed,  was.  I  could  not  help  thinking,  as  I 
saw  her  pass,  of  the  lady  Madeline  in  "The  Fall  of 
the  House  of  Usher." 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

THE  GERM  PLASM 

I  REGARDED  her  with  utter  astonishment  and  yet 
found  it  impossible  to  account  for  such  a  feeling.  I 
looked  at  Atherton,  but  on  his  face  I  could  see  noth- 
ing but  a  sort  of  questioning  fear  that  only  increased 
my  illusion,  as  if  he,  too,  had  only  a  vague,  haunting 
premonition  of  something  terrible  impending.  Al- 
most I  began  to  wonder  whether  the  Atherton  house 
might  not  crumble  under  the  fierceness  of  a  sudden 
whirlwind,  while  the  two  women  in  this  case,  one 
representing  the  wasted  past,  the  other  the  blasted 
future,  dragged  Atherton  down,  as  the  whole  scene 
dissolved  into  some  ghostly  tarn.  It  was  only  for  a 
moment,  and  then  I  saw  that  the  more  practical  Ken- 
nedy had  been  examining  some  bottles  on  the  lady's 
dresser  before  which  we  had  paused. 

One  was  a  plain  bottle  of  pellets  which  might  have 
been  some  homeopathic  remedy. 

"Whatever  it  is  that  is  the  matter  with  Eugenia," 
remarked  Atherton,  "it  seems  to  have  baffled  the 
doctors  so  far." 

Kennedy  said  nothing,  but  I  saw  that  he  had 
clumsily  overturned  the  bottle  and  absently  set  it  up 
again,  as  though  his  thoughts  were  far  away.  Yet 
with  a  cleverness  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a 
professor  of  legerdemain  he  had  managed  to  ex- 
tract two  or  three  of  the  pellets. 

3^4 


THE  GERM  PLASM  325 

"Yes,"  he  said,  as  he  moved  slowly  toward  the 
staircase  in  the  wide  hall,  "most  baffling." 

Atherton  was  plainly  disappointed.  Evidently  he 
had  expected  Kennedy  to  arrive  at  the  truth  and  set 
matters  right  by  some  sudden  piece  of  wizardry, 
and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  he  refrained  from  say- 
ing so. 

"I  should  like  to  meet  Burroughs  Atherton,"  he 
remarked  as  we  stood  in  the  wide  hall  on  the  first 
floor  of  the  big  house.    "Is  he  a  frequent  visitor?" 

"Not  frequent,"  hastened  Quincy  Atherton,  in  a 
tone  that  showed  some  satisfaction  in  saying  it. 
"However,  by  a  lucky  chance  he  has  promised  to 
call  to-night — a  mere  courtesy,  I  believe,  to  Edith, 
since  she  has  come  to  town  on  a  visit." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Kennedy.  "Now,  I  leave  it  to 
you,  Atherton,  to  make  some  plausible  excuse  for 
our  meeting  Burroughs  here." 

"I  can  do  that  easily." 

"I  shall  be  here  early,"  pursued  Kennedy  as  we 
left. 

Back  again  in  the  laboratory  to  which  Atherton 
insisted  on  accompanying  us  in  his  car,  Kennedy 
busied  himself  for  a  few  minutes,  crushing  up  one 
of  the  tablets  and  trying  one  or  two  reactions  with 
some  of  the  powder  dissolved,  while  I  looked  on 
curiously. 

"Craig,"  I  remarked  contemplatively,  after  a 
while,  "how  about  Atherton  himself?  Is  he  really 
free  from  the — er — stigmata,  I  suppose  you  call 
them,  of  insanity?" 

"You  mean,  may  the  whole  trouble  lie  with  him?" 
he  asked,  not  looking  up  from  his  work. 

"Yes — and  the  effect  on  her  be  a  sort  of  reflex, 
say,  perhaps  the  effect  of  having  sold  herself  for 


326  THE  WAR  TERROR 

money  and  position.  In  other  words,  does  she,  did 
she,  ever  love  him?  We  don't  know  that.  Might 
it  not  prey  on  her  mind,  until  with  the  kind  help  of 
his  precious  relatives  even  Nature  herself  could  not 
stand  the  strain — especially  in  the  delicate  condition 
in  which  she  now  finds  herself?" 

I  must  admit  that  I  felt  the  utmost  sympathy  for 
the  poor  girl  whom  we  had  just  seen  such  a  pitiable 
wreck. 

Kennedy  closed  his  eyes  tightly  until  they  wrinkled 
at  the  corners. 

"I  think  I  have  found  out  the  immediate  cause  of 
her  trouble,"  he  said  simply,  ignoring  my  sugges- 
tion. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked  eagerly. 

"I  can't  imagine  how  they  could  have  failed  to 
guess  it,  except  that  they  never  would  have  sus- 
pected to  look  for  anything  resembling  exophthal- 
mic goiter  in  a  person  of  her  stamina,"  he  answered, 
pronouncing  the  word  slowly.  "You  have  heard  of 
the  thyroid  gland  in  the  neck?" 

"Yes?"  I  queried,  for  it  was  a  mere  name  to  me. 

"It  is  a  vascular  organ  lying  under  the  chin  with 
a  sort  of  little  isthmus  joining  the  two  parts  on 
either  side  of  the  windpipe,"  he  explained.  "Well, 
when  there  is  any  deterioration  of  those  glands 
through  any  cause,  all  sorts  of  complications  may 
arise.  The  thyroid  is  one  of  the  so-called  ductless 
glands,  like  the  adrenals  above  the  kidneys,  the 
pineal  gland  and  the  pituitary  body.  In  normal  ac- 
tivity they  discharge  into  the  blood  substances  which 
are  carried  to  other  organs  and  are  now  known  to 
be  absolutely  essential. 

"The  substances  which  they  secrete  are  called 
'hormones' — those  chemical  messengers,  as  it  were, 


THE  GERM  PLASM  327 

by  which  many  of  the  processes  of  the  body  are  regu- 
lated. In  fact,  no  field  of  experimental  physiology 
is  richer  in  interest  than  this.  It  seems  that  few 
ordinary  drugs  approach  in  their  effects  on  metabol- 
ism the  hormones  of  the  thyroid.  In  excess  they 
produce  such  diseases  as  exophthalmic  goiter,  and 
goiter  is  concerned  with  the  enlargement  of  the 
glands  and  surrounding  tissues  beyond  anything  like 
natural  size.  Then,  too,  a  defect  in  the  glands  causes 
the  disease  known  as  myxedema  in  adults  and  cre- 
tinism in  children.  Most  of  all,  the  gland  seems  to 
tell  on  the  germ  plasm  of  the  body,  especially  in 
women." 

I  listened  in  amazement,  hardly  knowing  what  to 
think.  Did  his  discovery  portend  something  diaboli- 
cal, or  was  it  purely  a  defect  in  nature  which  Dr. 
Crafts  of  the  Eugenics  Bureau  had  overlooked? 

"One  thing  at  a  time,  Walter,"  cautioned  Ken- 
nedy, when  I  put  the  question  to  him,  scarcely  ex- 
pecting an  answer  yet. 

That  night  in  the  old  Atherton  mansion,  while  we 
waited  for  Borroughs  to  arrive,  Kennedy,  whose  fer- 
tile mind  had  contrived  to  kill  at  least  two  birds 
with  one  stone,  busied  himself  by  cutting  in  on  the 
regular  telephone  line  and  placing  an  extension  of 
his  own  in  a  closet  in  the  library.  To  it  he  attached 
an  ordinary  telephone  receiver  fastened  to  an  ar- 
rangement which  was  strange  to  me.  As  nearly  as 
I  can  describe  it,  between  the  diaphragm  of  the  regu- 
lar receiver  and  a  brownish  cylinder,  like  that  of  a 
phonograph,  and  with  a  needle  attached,  was  fitted 
an  air  chamber  of  small  size,  open  to  the  outer  air 
by  a  small  hole  to  prevent  compression. 

The  work  was  completed  expeditiously,  but  we  had 
plenty  of  time  to  wait,  for  Borroughs  Atherton  evi- 


328  THE  WAR  TERROR 

dently  did  not  consider  that  an  evening  had  fairly 
begun  until  nine  o'clock. 

He  arrived  at  last,  however,  rather  tall,  slight 
of  figure,  narrow-shouldered,  designed  for  the  latest 
models  of  imported  fabrics.  It  was  evident  merely 
by  shaking  hands  with  Burroughs  that  he  thought 
both  the  Athertons  and  the  Burroughses  just  the 
right  combination.  He  was  one  of  those  few  men 
against  whom  I  conceive  an  instinctive  prejudice, 
and  in  this  case  I  felt  positive  that,  whatever  faults 
the  Atherton  germ  plasm  might  contain,  he  had  com- 
bined others  from  the  determiners  of  that  of  the 
other  ancestors  he  boasted.  I  could  not  help  feel- 
ing that  Eugenia  Atherton  was  in  about  as  unpleas- 
ant an  atmosphere  of  social  miasma  as  could  be  im- 
agined. 

Burroughs  asked  politely  after  Eugenia,  but  it 
was  evident  that  the  real  deference  was  paid  to 
Edith  Atherton  and  that  they  got  along  very  well 
together.  Burroughs  excused  himself  early,  and  we 
followed  soon  after. 

"I  think  I  shall  go  around  to  this  Eugenics  Bu- 
reau of  Dr.  Crafts,"  remarked  Kennedy  the  next 
day,  after  a  night's  consideration  of  the  case. 

The  Bureau  occupied  a  floor  in  a  dwelling  house 
uptown  which  had  been  remodeled  into  an  office 
building.  Huge  cabinets  were  stacked  up  against 
the  walls,  and  in  them  several  women  were  engaged 
in  filing  blanks  and  card  records.  Another  part  of 
the  office  consisted  of  an  extensive  library  on  eu- 
genic subjects. 

Dr.  Crafts,  in  charge  of  the  work,  whom  we 
found  in  a  little  office  in  front  partitioned  off  by 
ground  glass,  was  an  old  man  with  an  alert,  vig- 
orous mind  on  whom  the  effects  of  plain  living  and 


THE  GERM  PLASM  329 

high  thinking  showed  plainly.  He  was  looking  over 
some  new  blanks  with  a  young  woman  who  seemed 
to  be  working  with  him,  directing  the  force  of  clerks 
as  well  as  the  "field  workers,"  who  were  gathering 
the  vast  mass  of  information  which  was  being  stud- 
ied. As  we  introduced  ourselves,  he  introduced  Dr. 
Maude  Schofield. 

"I  have  heard  of  your  eugenic  marriage  contests," 
began  Kennedy,  "more  especially  of  what  you  have 
done  for  Mr.  Quincy  Atherton." 

"Well — not  exactly  a  contest  in  that  case,  at 
least,"  corrected  Dr.  Crafts  with  an  indulgent  smile 
for  a  layman. 

"No,"  put  in  Dr.  Schofield,  "the  Eugenics  Bu- 
reau isn't  a  human  stock  farm." 

"I  see,"  commented  Kennedy,  who  had  no  such 
idea,  anyhow.  He  was  always  lenient  with  anyone 
who  had  what  he  often  referred  to  as  the  "illusion 
of  grandeur." 

"We  advise  people  sometimes  regarding  the  de- 
sirability or  the  undesirability  of  marriage,"  molli- 
fied Dr.  Crafts.  "This  is  a  sort  of  clearing  house 
for  scientific  race  investigation  and  improvement." 

"At  any  rate,"  persisted  Kennedy,  "after  inves- 
tigation, I  understand,  you  advised  in  favor  of  his 
marriage  with  Miss  Gilman." 

"Yes,  Eugenia  Gilman  seemed  to  measure  well  up 

to  the  requirements  in  such  a  match.     Her  branch 

of  the  Gilmans  has  always  been  of  the  vigorous, 

pioneering  type,  as  well  as  intellectual.    Her  father 

was  one  of  the  foremost  thinkers  in  the  West;  in 

fact  had  long  held  ideas  on  the  betterment  of  the 

race.    You  see  that  in  the  choice  of  a  name  for  his 

daughter — Eugenia." 

"Then  there  were  no  recessive  traits  in  her  fam- 
22 


330  THE  WAR  TERROR 

ily,"  asked  Kennedy  quickly,  "of  the  same  sort  that 
you  find  in  the  Athertons?" 

"None  that  we  could  discover,"  answered  Dr. 
Crafts  positively. 

"No  epilepsy,  no  insanity  of  any  form?" 

"No.  Of  course,  you  understand  that  almost  no 
one  is  what  might  be  called  eugenically  perfect. 
Strictly  speaking,  perhaps  not  over  two  or  three  per 
cent,  of  the  population  even  approximates  that  stand- 
ard. But  it  seemed  to  me  that  in  everything  essen- 
tial in  this  case,  weakness  latent  in  Atherton  was 
mating  strength  in  Eugenia  and  the  same  way  on  her 
part  for  an  entirely  different  set  of  traits." 

"Still,"  considered  Kennedy,  "there  might  have 
been  something  latent  in  her  family  germ  plasm  back 
of  the  time  through  which  you  could  trace  it?" 

Dr.  Crafts  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "There  often 
is,  I  must  admit,  something  we  can't  discover  because 
it  lies  too  far  back  in  the  past." 

"And  likely  to  crop  out  after  skipping  genera- 
tions," put  in  Maude  Schofield. 

She  evidently  did  not  take  the  same  liberal  view 
in  the  practical  application  of  the  matter  expressed 
by  her  chief.  I  set  it  down  to  the  ardor  of  youth 
in  a  new  cause,  which  often  becomes  the  saner  con- 
servatism of  maturity. 

"Of  course,  you  found  it  much  easier  than  usual 
to  get  at  the  true  family  history  of  the  Athertons," 
pursued  Kennedy.  "It  is  an  old  family  and  has 
been  prominent  for  generations." 

"Naturally,"  assented  Dr.  Crafts. 

"You  know  Burroughs  Atherton  on  both  lines  of 
descent?"  asked  Kennedy,  changing  the  subject 
abruptly. 

"Yes,  fairly  well,"  answered  Crafts. 


THE  GERM  PLASM  331 

"Now,  for  example,"  went  on  Craig,  "how  would 
you  advise  him  to  marry?" 

I  saw  at  once  that  he  was  taking  this  subterfuge 
as  a  way  of  securing  information  which  might  other- 
wise have  been  withheld  if  asked  for  directly. 
Maude  Schofield  also  saw  it,  I  fancied,  but  this  time 
said  nothing. 

"They  had  a  grandfather  who  was  a  manic  de- 
pressive on  the  Atherton  side,"  said  Crafts  slowly. 
"Now,  no  attempt  has  ever  been  made  to  breed  that 
defect  out  of  the  family.  In  the  case  of  Burroughs, 
it  is  perhaps  a  little  worse,  for  the  other  side  of  his 
ancestry  is  not  free  from  the  taint  of  alcoholism." 

"And  Edith  Atherton?" 

"The  same  way.  They  both  carry  it.  I  won't  go 
into  the  Mendelian  law  on  the  subject.  We  are 
clearing  up  much  that  is  obscure.  But  as  to  Bur- 
roughs, he  should  marry,  if  at  all,  some  one  without 
that  particular  taint.  I  believe  that  in  a  few  genera- 
tions by  proper  mating  most  taints  might  be  bred 
out  of  families." 

Maude  Schofield  evidently  did  not  agree  with  Dr. 
Crafts  on  some  point,  and,  noticing  it,  he  seemed 
to  be  in  the  position  both  of  explaining  his  conten- 
tion to  us  and  of  defending  it  before  his  fair  as- 
sistant. 

"It  is  my  opinion,  as  far  as  I  have  gone  with  the 
data,"  he  added,  "that  there  is  hope  for  many  of 
those  whose  family  history  shows  certain  nervous 
taints.  A  sweeping  prohibition  of  such  marriages 
would  be  futile,  perhaps  injurious.  It  is  necessary 
that  the  mating  be  carefully  made,  however,  to  pre- 
vent intensifying  the  taint.  You  see,  though  I  am  a 
eugenist  I  am  not  an  extremist." 

He     paused,     then     resumed     argumentatively : 


332  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"Then  there  are  other  questions,  too,  like  that  of 
genius  with  its  close  relation  to  manic  depressive 
insanity.  Also,  there  is  decrease  enough  in  the  birth 
rate,  without  adding  an  excuse  for  it.  No,  that  a 
young  man  like  Atherton  should  take  the  subject 
seriously,  instead  of  spending  his  time  in  wild  dissi- 
pation, like  his  father,  is  certainly  creditable,  argues 
in  itself  that  there  still  must  exist  some  strength  in 
his  stock. 

"And,  of  course,"  he  continued  warmly,  "when  I 
say  that  weakness  in  a  trait — not  in  all  traits,  by 
any  means — should  marry  strength  and  that  strength 
may  marry  weakness,  I  don't  mean  that  all  matches 
should  be  like  that.  If  we  are  too  strict  we  may 
prohibit  practically  all  marriages.  In  Atherton's 
case,  as  in  many  another,  I  felt  that  I  should  inter- 
pret the  rule  as  sanely  as  possible." 

"Strength  should  marry  strength,  and  weakness 
should  never  marry,"  persisted  Maude  Schofield. 
"Nothing  short  of  that  will  satisfy  the  true  eugen- 
ist." 

"Theoretically,"  objected  Crafts.  "But  Atherton 
was  going  to  marry,  anyhow.  The  only  thing  for 
me  to  do  was  to  lay  down  a  rule  which  he  might 
follow  safely.  Besides,  any  other  rule  meant  sure 
disaster." 

"It  was  the  only  rule  with  half  a  chance  of  being 
followed  and  at  any  rate,"  drawled  Kennedy,  as  the 
eugenists  wrangled,  "what  difference  does  it  make 
in  this  case?  As  nearly  as  I  can  make  out  it  is  Mrs. 
Atherton  herself,  not  Atherton,  who  is  ill." 

Maude  Schofield  had  risen  to  return  to  supervis- 
ing a  clerk  who  needed  help.  She  left  us,  still  un- 
convinced. 

"That  is  a  very  clever  girl,"  remarked  Kennedy  as 


THE  GERM  PLASM  333 

she  shut  the  door  and  he  scanned  Dr.  Crafts'  face 
closely. 

"Very,"  assented  the  Doctor. 

"The  Schofields  come  of  good  stock?"  hazarded 
Kennedy. 

"Very,"  assented  Dr.  Crafts  again. 

Evidently  he  did  not  care  to  talk  about  individual 
cases,  and  I  felt  that  the  rule  was  a  safe  one,  to  pre- 
vent Eugenics  from  becoming  Gossip.  Kennedy 
thanked  him  for  his  courtesy,  and  we  left  apparently 
on  the  best  of  terms  both  with  Crafts  and  his  as- 
sistant. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

THE  SEX  CONTROL 

I  did  not  see  Kennedy  again  that  day  until  late  in 
the  afternoon,  when  he  came  into  the  laboratory  car- 
rying a  small  package. 

"Theory  is  one  thing,  practice  is  another,"  he  re- 
marked, as  he  threw  his  hat  and  coat  into  a  chair. 

"Which  means — in  this  case?"  I  prompted. 

"Why,  I  have  just  seen  Atherton.  Of  course  I 
didn't  repeat  our  conversation  of  this  morning,  and 
I'm  glad  I  didn't.  He  almost  makes  me  think  you 
are  right,  Walter.  He's  obsessed  by  the  fear  of 
Burroughs.  Why,  he  even  told  me  that  Burroughs 
had  gone  so  far  as  to  take  a  leaf  out  of  his  book,  so 
to  speak,  get  in  touch  with  the  Eugenics  Bureau  as  if 
to  follow  his  footsteps,  but  really  to  pump  them 
about  Atherton  himself.  Atherton  says  it's  all  Bur- 
roughs' plan  to  break  his  will  and  that  the  fellow 
has  even  gone  so  far  as  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance 
of  Maude  Schofield,  knowing  that  he  will  get  no 
sympathy  from  Crafts." 

"First  it  was  Edith  Atherton,  now  it  is  Maude 
Schofield  that  he  hitches  up  with  Burroughs,"  I  com- 
mented. "Seems  to  me  that  I  have  heard  that  one 
of  the  first  signs  of  insanity  is  belief  that  everyone 
about  the  victim  is  conspiring  against  him.  I  haven't 
any  love  for  any  of  them — but  I  must  be  fair." 

"Well,"  said  Kennedy,  unwrapping  the  package, 

334 


THE  SEX  CONTROL  335 

"there  is  this  much  to  it.  Atherton  says  Burroughs 
and  Maude  Schofield  have  been  seen  together  more 
than  once — and  not  at  intellectual  gatherings  either. 
Burroughs  is  a  fascinating  fellow  to  a  woman,  if  he 
wants  to  be,  and  the  Schofields  are  at  least  the  so- 
cial equals  of  the  Burroughs.  Besides,"  he  added, 
"in  spite  of  eugenics,  feminism,  and  all  the  rest — sex, 
like  murder,  will  out.  There's  no  use  having  any 
false  ideas  about  that.  Atherton  may  see  red — but, 
then,  he  was  quite  excited." 

"Over  what?"  I  asked,  perplexed  more  than  ever 
at  the  turn  of  events. 

"He  called  me  up  in  the  first  place.  'Can't  you 
do  something?'  he  implored.  'Eugenia  is  getting 
worse  all  the  time.'  She  is,  too.  I  saw  her  for  a 
moment,  and  she  was  even  more  vacant  than  yester- 
day." 

The  thought  of  the  poor  girl  in  the  big  house 
somehow  brought  over  me  again  my  first  impres- 
sion of  Poe's  story. 

Kennedy  had  unwrapped  the  package  which 
proved  to  be  the  instrument  he  had  left  in  the  closet 
at  Atherton's.  It  was,  as  I  had  observed,  like  an 
ordinary  wax  cylinder  phonograph  record. 

"You  see,"  explained  Kennedy,  "it  is  nothing  more 
than  a  successful  application  at  last  of,  say,  one  of 
those  phonographs  you  have  seen  in  offices  for  tak- 
ing dictation,  placed  so  that  the  feebler  vibrations  of 
the  telephone  affect  it.  Let  us  see  what  we  have 
here." 

He  had  attached  the  cylinder  to  an  ordinary  pho- 
nograph, and  after  a  number  of  routine  calls  had 
been  run  off,  he  came  to  this,  in  voices  which  we 
could  only  guess  at  but  not  recognize,  for  no  names 
were  used. 


I 

336  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"How  is  she  to-day?" 

"Not  much  changed — perhaps  not  so  well." 

"It's  all  right,  though.  That  is  natural.  It  is 
working  well.  I  think  you  might  increase  the  dose, 
one  tablet." 

"You're  sure  it  is  all  right?"  (with  anxiety) . 

"Oh,  positively — it  has  been  done  in  Europe." 

"I  hope  so.    It  must  be  a  boy — and  an  Atherton/' 

"Never  fear." 

That  was  all.  Who  was  it?  The  voices  were  un- 
familiar to  me,  especially  when  repeated  mechani- 
cally. Besides  they  may  have  been  disguised.  At 
any  rate  we  had  learned  something.  Some  one  was 
trying  to  control  the  sex  of  the  expected  Atherton 
heir.  But  that  was  about  all.  Who  it  was,  we  knew 
no  better,  apparently,  than  before. 

Kennedy  did  not  seem  to  care  much,  however. 
Quickly  he  got  Quincy  Atherton  on  the  wire  and 
arranged  for  Atherton  to  have  Dr.  Crafts  meet  us 
at  the  house  at  eight  o'clock  that  night,  with  Maude 
Schofield.  Then  he  asked  that  Burroughs  Atherton 
be  there,  and  of  course,  Edith  and  Eugenia. 

We  arrived  almost  as  the  clock  was  striking,  Ken- 
nedy carrying  the  phonograph  record  and  another 
blank  record,  and  a  boy  tugging  along  the  machine 
itself.  Dr.  Crafts  was  the  next  to  appear,  expressing 
surprise  at  meeting  us,  and  I  thought  a  bit  annoyed, 
for  he  mentioned  that  it  had  been  with  reluctance 
that  he  had  had  to  give  up  some  work  he  had 
planned  for  the  evening.  Maude  Schofield,  who 
came  with  him,  looked  bored.  Knowing  that  she 
disapproved  of  the  match  with  Eugenia,  I  was  not 
surprised.  Burroughs  arrived,  not  as  late  as  I  had 
expected,  but  almost  insultingly  supercilious  at  find- 
ing so  many  strangers  at  what  Atherton  had  told 


THE  SEX  CONTROL  337 

him  was  to  be  a  family  conference,  in  order  to  get 
him  to  come.  Last  of  all  Edith  Atherton  descended 
the  staircase,  the  personification  of  dignity,  bowing 
to  each  with  a  studied  graciousness,  as  if  distributing 
largess,  but  greeting  Burroughs  with  an  air  that 
plainly  showed  how  much  thicker  was  blood  than  wa- 
ter. Eugenia  remained  upstairs,  lethargic,  almost 
cataleptic,  as  Atherton  told  us  when  we  arrived. 

"I  trust  you  are  not  going  to  keep  us  long, 
Quincy,"  yawned  Burroughs,  looking  ostentatiously 
at  his  watch. 

"Only  long  enough  for  Professor  Kennedy  to  say 
a  few  words  about  Eugenia,"  replied  Atherton  ner- 
vously, bowing  to  Kennedy. 

Kennedy  cleared  his  throat  slowly. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  have  much  to  say,"  began 
Kennedy,  still  seated.  "I  suppose  Mr.  Atherton  has 
told  you  I  have  been  much  interested  in  the  peculiar 
state  of  health  of  Mrs.  Atherton?" 

No  one  spoke,  and  he  went  on  easily:  "There  is 
something  I  might  say,  however,  about  the — er — 
what  I  call  the  chemistry  of  insanity.  Among  the 
present  wonders  of  science,  as  you  doubtless  know, 
none  stirs  the  imagination  so  powerfully  as  the  doc- 
trine that  at  least  some  forms  of  insanity  are  the  re- 
sult of  chemical  changes  in  the  blood.  For  instance, 
ill  temper,  intoxication,  many  things  are  due  to 
chemical  changes  in  the  blood  acting  on  the  brain. 

"Go  further  back.  Take  typhoid  fever  with  its 
delirium,  influenza  with  its  suicide  mania.  All  due 
to  toxins — poisons.  Chemistry — chemistry — all  of 
them  chemistry." 

Craig  had  begun  carefully  so  as  to  win  their  at- 
tention. He  had  it  as  he  went  on:  "Do  we  not 
brew  within  ourselves  poisons  which  enter  the  cir- 


33*  THE  WAR  TERROR 

dilation  and  pervade  the  system  ?  A  sudden  emotion 
upsets  the  chemistry  of  the  body.  Or  poisonous 
food.  Or  a  drug.  It  affects  many  things.  But  we 
could  never  have  had  this  chemical  theory  unless  we 
had  had  physiological  chemistry — and  some  carry  it 
so  far  as  to  say  that  the  brain  secretes  thought,  just 
as  the  liver  secretes  bile,  that  thoughts  are  the  re- 
sults of  molecular  changes." 

"You  are,  then,  a  materialist  of  the  most  pro- 
nounced type,"  asserted  Dr.  Crafts. 

Kennedy  had  been  reaching  over  to  a  table,  toy- 
ing with  the  phonograph.  As  Crafts  spoke  he 
moved  a  key,  and  I  suspected  that  it  was  in  order 
to  catch  the  words. 

"Not  entirely,"  he  said.  "No  more  than  some 
eugenists." 

"In  our  field,"  put  in  Maude  Schofield,  "I  might 
express  the  thought  this  way — the  sociologist  has 
had  his  day;  now  it  is  the  biologist,  the  eugenist." 

"That  expresses  it,"  commented  Kennedy,  still 
tinkering  with  the  record.  "Yet  it  does  not  mean 
that  because  we  have  new  ideas,  they  abolish  the 
old.  Often  they  only  explain,  amplify,  supplement. 
For  instance,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  Edith  Ather- 
ton,  "take  heredity.  Our  knowledge  seems  new,  but 
is  it?  Marriages  have  always  been  dictated  by  a 
sort  of  eugenics.    Society  is  founded  on  that." 

"Precisely,"  she  answered.  "The  best  families 
have  always  married  into  the  best  families.  These 
modern  notions  simply  recognize  what  the  best  peo- 
ple have  always  thought — except  that  it  seems  to 
me,"  she  added  with  a  sarcastic  flourish,  "people  of 
no  ancestry  are  trying  to  force  themselves  in  among 
their  betters." 

"Very  true,  Edith,"  drawled  Burroughs,  "but  we 


THE  SEX  CONTROL  339 

did  not  have  to  be  brought  here  by  Quincy  to  learn 
that." 

Quincy  Atherton  had  risen  during  the  discussion 
and  had  approached  Kennedy.  Craig  continued  to 
finger  the  phonograph  abstractedly,  as  he  looked  up. 

"About  this — this  insanity  theory,"  he  whispered 
eagerly.  "You  think  that  the  suspicions  I  had  have 
been  justified?" 

I  had  been  watching  Kennedy's  hand.  As  soon  as 
Atherton  had  started  to  speak,  I  saw  that  Craig,  as 
before,  had  moved  the  key,  evidently  registering 
what  he  said,  as  he  had  in  the  case  of  the  others  dur- 
ing the  discussion. 

"One  moment,  Atherton,"  he  whispered  in  reply, 
"I'm  coming  to  that.  Now,"  he  resumed  aloud, 
"there  is  a  disease,  or  a  number  of  diseases,  to  which 
my  remarks  about  insanity  a  while  ago  might  apply 
very  well.  They  have  been  known  for  some  time  to 
arise  from  various  affections  of  the  thyroid  glands 
in  the  neck.  These  glands,  strange  to  say,  if  acted 
on  in  certain  ways  can  cause  degenerations  of  mind 
and  body,  which  are  well  known,  but  in  spite  of  much 
study  are  still  very  little  understood.  For  example, 
there  is  a  definite  interrelation  between  them  and 
sex — especially  in  woman." 

Rapidly  he  sketched  what  he  had  already  told  me 
of  the  thyroid  and  the  hormones.  "These  hor- 
mones," added  Kennedy,  "are  closely  related  to 
many  reactions  in  the  body,  such  as  even  the 
mother's  secretion  of  milk  at  the  proper  time  and 
then  only.  That  and  many  other  functions  are  due 
to  the  presence  and  character  of  these  chemical  se- 
cretions from  the  thyroid  and  other  ductless  glands. 
It  is  a  fascinating  study.  For  we  know  that  any- 
thing that  will  upset — reduce  or  increase — the  hor- 


34Q  THE  WAR  TERROR 

mones  is  a  matter  intimately  concerned  with  health. 
Such  changes,"  he  said  earnestly,  leaning  forward, 
"might  be  aimed  directly  at  the  very  heart  of  what 
otherwise  would  be  a  true  eugenic  marriage.  It  is 
even  possible  that  loss  of  sex  itself  might  be  made 
to  follow  deep  changes  of  the  thyroid." 

He  stopped  a  moment.  Even  if  he  had  accom- 
plished nothing  else  he  had  struck  a  note  which  had 
caused  the  Athertons  to  forget  their  former  super- 
ciliousness. 

"If  there  is  an  oversupply  of  thyroid  hormones," 
continued  Craig,  "that  excess  will  produce  many 
changes,  for  instance  a  condition  very  much  like 
exophthalmic  goiter.  And,"  he  said,  straightening 
up,  "I  find  that  Eugenia  Atherton  has  within  her 
blood  an  undue  proportion  of  these  thyroid  hor- 
mones. Now,  is  it  overfunction  of  the  glands,  hyper- 
secretion— or  is  it  something  else?" 

No  one  moved  as  Kennedy  skillfully  led  his  dis- 
closure along  step  by  step. 

"That  question,"  he  began  again  slowly,  shifting 
his  position  in  the  chair,  "raises  in  my  mind,  at  least, 
a  question  which  has  often  occurred  to  me  before. 
Is  it  possible  for  a  person,  taking  advantage  of  the 
scientific  knowledge  we  have  gained,  to  devise  and 
successfully  execute  a  murder  without  fear  of  discov- 
ery? In  other  words,  can  a  person  be  removed  with 
that  technical  nicety  of  detail  which  will  leave  no 
clue  and  will  be  set  down  as  something  entirely  natu- 
ral, though  unfortunate?" 

It  was  a  terrible  idea  he  was  framing,  and  he 
dwelt  on  it  so  that  we  might  accept  it  at  its  full 
value.  "As  one  doctor  has  said,"  he  added,  "al- 
though toxicologists  and  chemists  have  not  always 
possessed  infallible  tests  for  practical  use,  it  is  at 


THE  SEX  CONTROL  341 

present  a  pretty  certain  observation  that  every  poi- 
son leaves  its  mark.  But  then  on  the  other  hand, 
students  of  criminology  have  said  that  a  skilled  phy- 
sician or  surgeon  is  about  the  only  person  now  capa- 
ble of  carrying  out  a  really  scientific  murder. 

"Which  is  true?  It  seems  to  me,  at  least  in  the 
latter  case,  that  the  very  nicety  of  the  handiwork 
must  often  serve  as  a  clue  in  itself.  The  trained 
hand  leaves  the  peculiar  mark  characteristic  of  its 
training.  No  matter  how  shrewdly  the  deed  is 
planned,  the  execution  of  it  is  daily  becoming  a  more 
and  more  difficult  feat,  thanks  to  our  increasing 
knowledge  of  microbiology  and  pathology." 

He  had  risen,  as  he  finished  the  sentence,  every 
eye  fixed  on  him,  as  if  he  had  been  a  master  hypno- 
tist. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  taking  off  the  cylinder  from 
the  phonograph  and  placing  on  one  which  I  knew 
was  that  which  had  lain  in  the  library  closet  over 
night,  "perhaps  some  of  the  things  I  have  said  will 
explain  or  be  explained  by  the  record  on  this  cylin- 
der." 

He  had  started  the  machine.  So  magical  was 
the  effect  on  the  little  audience  that  I  am  tempted  to 
repeat  what  I  had  already  heard,  but  had  not  my- 
self yet  been  able  to  explain: 

"How  is  she  to-day?" 

"Not  much  changed — perhaps  not  so  well." 

"It's  all  right,  though.  That  is  natural.  It  is 
working  well.  I  think  you  might  increase  the  dose 
one  tablet." 

"You're  sure  it  is  all  right?" 

"Oh,  positively — it  has  been  done  in  Europe." 

"I  hope  so.    It  must  be  a  boy — and  an  Atherton." 

"Never  fear." 


342  THE  WAR  TERROR 

No  one  moved  a  muscle.  If  there  was  anyone  in 
the  room  guilty  of  playing  on  the  feelings  and  the 
health  of  an  unfortunate  woman,  that  person  must 
have  had  superb  control  of  his  own  feelings. 

"As  you  know,"  resumed  Kennedy  thoughtfully, 
"there  are  and  have  been  many  theories  of  sex  con- 
trol. One  of  the  latest,  but  by  no  means  the  only 
one,  is  that  it  can  be  done  by  use  of  the  extracts  of 
various  glands  administered  to  the  mother.  I  do 
not  know  with  what  scientific  authority  it  was  stated, 
but  I  do  know  that  some  one  has  recently  said  that 
adrenalin,  derived  from  the  suprarenal  glands,  in- 
duces boys  to  develop — cholin,  from  the  bile  of  the 
liver,  girls.  It  makes  no  difference — in  this  case. 
There  may  have  been  a  show  of  science.  But  it  was 
to  cover  up  a  crime.  Some  one  has  been  adminis- 
tering to  Eugenia  Atherton  tablets  of  thyroid  ex- 
tract— ostensibly  to  aid  her  in  fulfilling  the  dearest 
ambition  of  her  soul — to  become  the  mother  of  a 
new  line  of  Athertons  which  might  bear  the  same 
relation  to  the  future  of  the  country  as  the  great 
family  of  the  Edwards  mothered  by  Elizabeth  Tut- 
tle." 

He  was  bending  over  the  two  phonograph  cylin- 
ders now,  rapidly  comparing  the  new  one  which  he 
had  made  and  that  which  he  had  just  allowed  to 
reel  off  its  astounding  revelation. 

"When  a  voice  speaks  into  a  phonograph,"  he 
said,  half  to  himself,  "its  modulations  received  on 
the  diaphragm  are  written  by  a  needle  point  upon 
the  surface  of  a  cylinder  or  disk  in  a  series  of  fine 
waving  or  zigzag  lines  of  infinitely  varying  depth  or 
breadth.  Dr.  Marage  and  others  have  been  able 
to  distinguish  vocal  sounds  by  the  naked  eye  on 
phonograph  records.     Mr.  Edison  has  studied  them 


THE  SEX  CONTROL  343 

with  the  microscope  in  his  world-wide  search  far  the 
perfect  voice. 

"In  fact,  now  it  is  possible  to  identify  voices  by 
the  records  they  make,  to  get  at  the  precise  mean- 
ing of  each  slightest  variation  of  the  lines  with 
mathematical  accuracy.  They  can  no  more  be  falsi- 
fied than  handwriting  can  be  forged  so  that  modern 
science  cannot  detect  it  or  than  typewriting  can  be 
concealed  and  attributed  to  another  machine.  The 
voice  is  like  a  finger  print,  a  portrait  parle — unes- 
capable." 

He  glanced  up,  then  back  again.  "This  micro- 
scope shows  me,"  he  said,  "that  the  voices  on  that 
cylinder  you  heard  are  identical  with  two  on  this 
record  which  I  have  just  made  in  this  room." 

"Walter,"  he  said,  motioning  to  me,  "look." 

I  glanced  into  the  eyepiece  and  saw  a  series  of 
lines  and  curves,  peculiar  waves  lapping  together 
and  making  an  appearance  in  some  spots  almost  like 
tooth  marks.  Although  I  did  not  understand  the 
details  of  the  thing,  I  could  readily  see  that  by 
study  one  might  learn  as  much  about  it  as  about 
loops,  whorls,  and  arches  on  finger  tips. 

"The  upper  and  lower  lines,"  he  explained,  "with 
long  regular  waves,  on  that  highly  magnified  section 
of  the  record,  are  formed  by  the  voice  with  no  over- 
tones. The  three  lines  in  the  middle,  with  rhythmic 
ripples,  show  the  overtones." 

He  paused  a  moment  and  faced  us.  "Many  a 
person,"  he  resumed,  "is  a  biotype  in  whom  a  full 
complement  of  what  are  called  inhibitions  never  de- 
velops. That  is  part  of  your  eugenics.  Through- 
out life,  and  in  spite  of  the  best  of  training,  that  per- 
son reacts  now  and  then  to  a  certain  stimulus  di- 
rectly.   A  man  stands  high ;  once  a  year  he  falls  with 


344  THE  WAR  TERROR 

a  lethal  quantity  of  alcohol.  A  woman,  brilliant, 
accomplished,  slips  away  and  spends  a  day  with  a 
lover  as  unlike  herself  as  can  be  imagined. 

"The  voice  that  interests  me  most  on  these  rec- 
ords," he  went  on,  emphasizing  the  words  with  one 
of  the  cylinders  which  he  still  held,  "is  that  of  a  per- 
son who  has  been  working  on  the  family  pride  of  an- 
other. That  person  has  persuaded  the  other  to  ad- 
minister to  Eugenia  an  extract  because  'it  must  be  a 
boy  and  an  Atherton.'  That  person  is  a  high-class 
defective,  born  with  a  criminal  instinct,  reacting  to 
it  in  an  artful  way.  Thank  God,  the  love  of  a  man 
whom  theoretical  eugenics  condemned,  roused  us 
in ■" 

A  cry  at  the  door  brought  us  all  to  our  feet,  with 
hearts  thumping  as  if  they  were  bursting. 

It  was  Eugenia  Atherton,  wild-eyed,  erect,  staring. 

I  stood  aghast  at  the  vision.  Was  she  really  to 
be  the  Lady  Madeline  in  this  fall  of  the  House  of 
Atherton  ? 

"Edith — I — I  missed  you.  I  heard  voices.  Is — 
is  it  true — what  this  man — says?  Is  my — my 
baby " 

Quincy  Atherton  leaped  forward  and  caught  her 
as  she  reeled.  Quickly  Craig  threw  open  a  win- 
dow for  air,  and  as  he  did  so  leaned  far  out  and 
blew  shrilly  on  a  police  whistle. 

The  young  man  looked  up  from  Eugenia,  over 
whom  he  was  bending,  scarcely  heeding  what  else 
went  on  about  him.  Still,  there  was  no  trace  of 
anger  on  his  face,  in  spite  of  the  great  wrong  that 
had  been  done  him.  There  was  room  for  only  one 
great  emotion — only  anxiety  for  the  poor  girl  who 
had  suffered  so  cruelly  merely  for  taking  his  name. 

Kennedy  saw  the  unspoken  question  in  his  eyes. 


THE  SEX  CONTROL  345 

"Eugenia  is  a  pure  normal,  as  Dr.  Crafts  told 
you,"  he  said  gently.  "A  few  weeks,  perhaps  only 
days,  of  treatment — the  thyroid  will  revert  to  its 
normal  state — and  Eugenia  Gilman  will  be  the 
mother  of  a  new  house  of  Atherton  which  may 
eclipse  even  the  proud  record  of  the  founder  of 
the  old." 

"Who  blew  the  whistle?"  demanded  a  gruff  voice 
at  the  door,  as  a  tall  bluecoat  puffed  past  the  scan- 
dalized butler. 

"Arrest  that  woman,"  pointed  Kennedy.  "She 
is  the  poisoner.  Either  as  wife  of  Burroughs,  whom 
she  fascinates  and  controls  as  she  does  Edith,  she 
planned  to  break  the  will  of  Quincy  or,  in  the  other 
event,  to  administer  the  fortune  as  head  of  the  Eu- 
genics Foundation  after  the  death  of  Dr.  Crafts, 
who  would  have  followed  Eugenia  and  Quincy 
Atherton." 

I  followed  the  direction  of  Kennedy's  accusing 
finger.  Maude  Schofield's  face  betrayed  more  than 
even  her  tongue  could  have  confessed. 


23 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

THE  BILLIONAIRE  BABY 

Coming  to  us  directly  as  a  result  of  the  talk  that 
the  Atherton  case  provoked  was  another  that  in- 
volved the  happiness  of  a  wealthy  family  to  a  no 
less  degree. 

"I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  the  'billionaire 
baby,'  Morton  Hazleton  III?"  asked  Kennedy  of 
me  one  afternoon  shortly  afterward. 

The  mere  mention  of  the  name  conjured  up  in 
my  mind  a  picture  of  the  lusty  two-year-old  heir  of 
two  fortunes,  as  the  feature  articles  in  the  Star  had 
described  that  little  scion  of  wealth — his  luxurious 
nursery,  his  magnificent  toys,  his  own  motor  car,  a 
trained  nurse  and  a  detective  on  guard  every  hour 
of  the  day  and  night,  every  possible  precaution  for 
his  health  and  safety. 

"Gad,  what  a  lucky  kid!"  I  exclaimed  involun- 
tarily. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  put  in  Kennedy. 
"The  fortune  may  be  exaggerated.  His  happiness 
is,  I'm  sure." 

He  had  pulled  from  his  pocketbook  a  card  and 
handed  it  to  me.  It  read:  "Gilbert  Butler,  Amer- 
ican representative,  Lloyd's." 

"Lloyd's?"  I  queried.  "What  has  Lloyd's  to  do 
with  the  billion-dollar  baby?" 

"Very  much.  The  child  has  been  insured  with 
346 


THE  BILLIONAIRE  BABY  347 

them  for  some  fabulous  sum  against  accident,  in- 
cluding kidnaping." 

"Yes?"  I  prompted,  "sensing"  a  story. 

"Well,  there  seem  to  have  been  threats  of  some 
kind,  I  understand.  Mr.  Butler  has  called  on  me 
once  already  to-day  to  retain  my  services  and  is  go- 
ing to — ah — there  he  is  again  now." 

Kennedy  had  answered  the  door  buzzer  himself, 
and  Mr.  Butler,  a  tall,  sloping-shouldered  English- 
man, entered. 

"Has  anything  new  developed?"  asked  Kennedy, 
introducing  me. 

"I  can't  say,"  replied  Butler  dubiously.  "I  rather 
think  we  have  found  something  that  may  have  a 
bearing  on  the  case.  You  know  Miss  Haversham, 
Veronica  Haversham?" 

"The  actress  and  professional  beauty?  Yes — at 
least  I  have  seen  her.     Why?" 

"We  hear  that  Morton  Hazleton  knows  her,  any- 
how," remarked  Butler  dryly. 

"Well?" 

"Then  you  don't  know  the  gossip?"  he  cut  in. 
"She  is  said  to  be  in  a  sanitarium  near  the  city.  I'll 
have  to  find  that  out  for  you.  It's  a  fast  set  she 
has  been  traveling  with  lately,  including  not  only 
Hazleton,  but  Dr.  Maudsley,  the  Hazleton  physi- 
cian, and  one  or  two  others,  who  if  they  were  poorer 
might  be  called  desperate  characters." 

"Does  Mrs.  Hazleton  know  of — of  his  reputed 
intimacy?" 

"I  can't  say  that,  either.  I  presume  that  she  is 
no  fool." 

Morton  Hazleton,  Jr.,  I  knew,  belonged  to  a 
rather  smart  group  of  young  men.  He  had  been 
mentioned  in  several  near-scandals,  but  as  far  as 


348  THE  WAR  TERROR 

I  knew  there  had  been  nothing  quite  as  public  and 
definite  as  this  one. 

"Wouldn't  that  account  for  her  fears?"  I  asked. 

"Hardly,"  replied  Butler,  shaking  his  head.  "You 
see,  Mrs.  Hazleton  is  a  nervous  wreck,  but  it's  about 
the  baby,  and  caused,  she  says,  by  her  fears  for  its 
safety.  It  came  to  us  only  in  a  roundabout  way, 
through  a  servant  in  the  house  who  keeps  us  in 
touch.  The  curious  feature  is  that  we  can  seem  to 
get  nothing  definite  from  her  about  her  fears.  They 
may  be  groundless." 

Butler  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  proceeded, 
"And  they  may  be  well-founded.  But  we  prefer  to 
run  no  chances  in  a  case  of  this  kind.  The  child, 
you  know,  is  guarded  in  the  house.  In  his  peram- 
bulator he  is  doubly  guarded,  and  when  he  goes  out 
for  his  airing  in  the  automobile,  two  men,  the  chauf- 
feur and  a  detective,  are  always  there,  besides  his 
nurse,  and  often  his  mother  or  grandmother.  Even 
in  the  nursery  suite  they  have  iron  shutters  which 
can  be  pulled  down  and  padlocked  at  night  and  are 
constructed  so  as  to  give  plenty  of  fresh  air  even  to 
a  scientific  baby.  Master  Hazleton  was  the  best  sort 
of  risk,  we  thought.    But  now — we  don't  know." 

"You  can  protect  yourselves,  though,"  suggested 
Kennedy. 

"Yes,  we  have,  under  the  policy,  the  right  to  take 
certain  measures  to  protect  ourselves  in  addition  to 
the  precautions  taken  by  the  Hazletons.  We  have 
added  our  own  detective  to  those  already  on  duty. 
But  we — we  don't  know  what  to  guard  against,"  he 
concluded,  perplexed.  "We'd  like  to  know — that's 
all.    It's  too  big  a  risk." 

"I  may  see  Mrs.  Hazleton?"  mused  Kennedy. 

"Yes.     Under  the  circumstances  she  can  scarcely 


THE  BILLIONAIRE  BABY  349 

refuse  to  see  anyone  we  send.  I've  arranged  already 
for  you  to  meet  her  within  an  hour.  Is  that  all 
right?" 

"Certainly." 

The  Hazleton  home  in  winter  in  the  city  was 
uptown,  facing  the  river.  The  large  grounds  ad- 
joining made  the  Hazletons  quite  independent  of  the 
■daily  infant  parade  which  one  sees  along  Riverside 
Drive. 

As  we  entered  the  grounds  we  could  almost  feel 
the  very  atmosphere  on  guard.  We  did  not  see  the 
little  subject  of  so  much  concern,  but  I  remembered 
his  much  heralded  advent,  when  his  grandparents 
had  settled  a  cold  million  on  him,  just  as  a  reward 
for  coming  into  the  world.  Evidently,  Morton,  Sr., 
had  hoped  that  Morton,  Jr.,  would  calm  down,  now 
that  there  was  a  third  generation  to  consider.  It 
seemed  that  he  had  not.  I  wondered  if  that  had 
really  been  the  occasion  of  the  threats  or  whatever 
it  was  that  had  caused  Mrs.  Hazleton's  fears,  and 
whether  Veronica  Haversham  or  any  of  the  fast  set 
around  her  had  had  anything  to  do  with  it. 

Millicent  Hazleton  was  a  very  pretty  little 
woman,  in  whom  one  saw  instinctively  the  artistic 
temperament.  She  had  been  an  actress,  too,  when 
young  Morton  Hazleton  married  her,  and  at  first, 
at  least,  they  had  seemed  very  devoted  to  each  other. 

We  were  admitted  to  see  her  in  her  own  library, 
a  tastefully  furnished  room  on  the  second  floor  of 
the  house,  facing  a  garden  at  the  side. 

"Mrs.  Hazleton,"  began  Butler,  smoothing  the 
way  for  us,  "of  course  you  realize  that  we  are  work- 
ing in  your  interests.  Professor  Kennedy,  therefore, 
in  a  sense,  represents  both  of  us." 

"I   am  quite   sure   I   shall  be   delighted  to   help 


350  THE  WAR  TERROR 

you,"  she  said  with  an  absent  expression,  though  not 
ungraciously. 

Butler,  having  introduced  us,  courteously  with- 
drew. "I  leave  this  entirely  in  your  hands,"  he  said, 
as  he  excused  himself.  "If  you  want  me  to  do  any- 
thing more,  call  on  me." 

I  must  say  that  I  was  much  surprised  at  the  way 
she  had  received  us.  Was  there  in  it,  I  wondered, 
an  element  of  fear  lest  if  she  refused  to  talk  sus- 
picion might  grow  even  greater?  One  could  see 
anxiety  plainly  enough  on  her  face,  as  she  waited 
for  Kennedy  to  begin. 

A  few  moments  of  general  conversation  then  fol- 
lowed. 

"Just  what  is  it  you  fear?"  he  asked,  after  having 
gradually  led  around  to  the  subject.  "Have  there 
been  any  threatening  letters?" 

"N-no,"  she  hesitated,  "at  least  nothing — defi- 
nite." 

"Gossip?"  he  hinted. 

"No."  She  said  it  so  positively  that  I  fancied  it 
might  be  taken  for  a  plain  "Yes." 

"Then  what  is  it?"  he  asked,  very  deferentially, 
but  firmly. 

She  had  been  looking  out  at  the  garden.  "You 
couldn't  understand,"  she  remarked.  "No  detec- 
tive  "  she  stopped. 

"You  may  be  sure,  Mrs.  Hazleton,  that  I  have 
not  come  here  unnecessarily  to  intrude,"  he  reas- 
sured her.  "It  is  exactly  as  Mr.  Butler  put  it.  We 
— want  to  help  you." 

I  fancied  there  seemed  to  be  something  compel- 
ling about  his  manner.  It  was  at  once  sympathetic 
and  persuasive.  Quite  evidently  he  was  taking 
pains  to  break  down  the  prejudice  in  her  mind  which 


THE  BILLIONAIRE  BABY  351 

she  had  already  shown  toward  the  ordinary  detec- 
tive. 

"You  would  think  me  crazy,"  she  remarked 
slowly.     "But  it  is  just  a — a  dream — just  dreams." 

I  don't  think  she  had  intended  to  say  anything, 
for  she  stopped  short  and  looked  at  him  quickly  as 
if  to  make  sure  whether  he  could  understand.  As 
for  myself,  I  must  say  I  felt  a  little  skeptical.  To 
my  surprise,  Kennedy  seemed  to  take  the  statement 
at  its  face  value. 

"Ah,"  he  remarked,  "an  anxiety  dream?  You 
will  pardon  me,  Mrs.  Hazleton,  but  before  we  go 
further  let  me  tell  you  frankly  that  I  am  much  more 
than  an  ordinary  detective.  If  you  will  permit  me,  I 
should  rather  have  you  think  of  me  as  a  psycholo- 
gist, a  specialist,  one  who  has  come  to  set  your  mind 
at  rest  rather  than  to  worm  things  from  you  by  devi- 
ous methods  against  which  you  have  to  be  on  guard. 
It  is  just  for  such  an  unusual  case  as  yours  that  Mr. 
Butler  has  called  me  in.  By  the  way,  as  our  inter- 
view may  last  a  few  minutes,  would  you  mind  sitting 
down?  I  think  you'll  find  it  easier  to  talk  if  you 
can  get  your  mind  perfectly  at  rest,  and  for  the 
moment  trust  to  the  nurse  and  the  detectives  who 
are  guarding  the  garden,  I  am  sure,  perfectly." 

She  had  been  standing  by  the  window  during  the 
interview  and  was  quite  evidently  growing  more 
and  more  nervous.  With  a  bow  Kennedy  placed  her 
at  her  ease  on  a  chaise  lounge. 

"Now,"  he  continued,  standing  near  her,  but  out 
of  sight,  "you  must  try  to  remain  free  from  all  ex- 
ternal influences  and  impressions.  Don't  move. 
Avoid  every  use  of  a  muscle.  Don't  let  anything 
distract  you.  Just  concentrate  your  attention  on  your 
psychic  activities.     Don't  suppress  one  idea  as  un- 


352  THE  WAR  TERROR 

importan.,  irrelevant,  or  nonsensical.  Simply  tell 
me  what  occurs  to  you  in  connection  with  the  dreams 
— everything,"  emphasized  Craig. 

I  could  not  help  feeling  surprised  to  find  that  she 
accepted  Kennedy's  deferential  commands,  for  after 
all  that  was  what  they  amounted  to.  Almost  I  felt 
that  she  was  turning  to  him  for  help,  that  he  had 
broken  down  some  barrier  to  her  confidence.  He 
seemed  to  exert  a  sort  of  hypnotic  influence  over  her. 

"I  have  had  cases  before  which  involved  dreams," 
he  was  saying  quietly  and  reassuringly.  "Believe 
me,  I  do  not  share  the  world's  opinion  that  dreams 
are  nothing.  Nor  yet  do  I  believe  in  them  supersti- 
tiously.  I  can  readily  understand  how  a  dream  can 
play  a  mighty  part  in  shaping  the  feelings  of  a  high- 
tensioned  woman.  Might  I  ask  exactly  what  it  is 
you  fear  in  your  dreams?" 

She  sank  her  head  back  in  the  cushions,  and  for 
a  moment  closed  her  eyes,  half  in  weariness,  half 
in  tacit  obedience  to  him. 

"Oh,  I  have  such  horrible  dreams,"  she  said  at 
length,  "full  of  anxiety  and  fear  for  Morton  and 
little  Morton.  I  can't  explain  it.  But  they  are  so 
horrible." 

Kennedy  said  nothing.  She  was  talking  freely  at 
last. 

"Only  last  night,"  she  went  on,  "I  dreamt  that 
Morton  was  dead.  I  could  see  the  funeral,  all  the 
preparations,  and  the  procession.  It  seemed  that 
in  the  crowd  there  was  a  woman.  I  could  not  see 
her  face,  but  she  had  fallen  down  and  the  crowd 
was  around  her.  Then  Dr.  Maudsley  appeared. 
Then  all  of  a  sudden  the  dream  changed.  I  thought 
I  was  on  the  sand,  at  the  seashore,  or  perhaps  a  lake. 
I  was  with  Junior  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  wad- 


THE  BILLIONAIRE  BABY  353 

ing  in  the  water,  his  head  bobbing  up  and  down  in 
the  waves.  It  was  like  a  desert,  too — the  sand.  I 
turned,  and  there  was  a  lion  behind  me.  I  did  not 
seem  to  be  afraid  of  him,  although  I  was  so  close 
that  I  could  almost  feel  his  shaggy  mane.  Yet  I 
feared  that  he  might  bite  Junior.  The  next  I  knew 
I  was  running  with  the  child  in  my  arms.  I  escaped 
— and — oh,  the  relief!" 

She  sank  back,  half  exhausted,  half  terrified  still 
by  the  recollection. 

"In  your  dream  when  Dr.  Maudsley  appeared," 
asked  Kennedy,  evidently  interested  in  filling  in  the 
gap,  "what  did  he  do?" 

"Do?"  she  repeated.  "In  the  dream?  Noth- 
ing." 

"Are  you  sure?"  he  asked,  shooting  a  quick  glance 
at  her. 

"Yes.  That  part  of  the  dream  became  indistinct. 
I'm  sure  he  did  nothing,  except  shoulder  through  the 
crowd.  I  think  he  had  just  entered.  Then  that 
part  of  the  dream  seemed  to  end  and  the  second  part 
began." 

Piece  by  piece  Kennedy  went  over  it,  putting  it 
together  as  if  it  were  a  mosaic. 

"Now,  the  woman.  You  say  her  face  was  hid- 
den?" 

She  hesitated.  "N-no.  I  saw  it.  But  it  was  no 
one  I  knew*" 

Kennedy  did  not  dwell  on  the  contradiction,  but 
added,  "And  the  crowd?" 

"Strangers,  too." 

"Dr.  Maudsley  is  your  family  physician?"  he 
questioned. 

"Yes." 

"Did  he  call — er — yesterday?" 


354  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"He  calls  every  day  to  supervise  the  nurse  who 
has  Junior  in  charge." 

"Could  one  always  be  true  to  oneself  in  the  face 
of  any  temptation?"  he  asked  suddenly. 

It  was  a  bold  question.  Yet  such  had  been  the 
gradual  manner  of  his  leading  up  to  it  that,  before 
she  knew  it,  she  had  answered  quite  frankly,  "Yes 
— if  one  always  thought  of  home  and  her  child,  I 
cannot  see  how  one  could  help  controlling  herself." 

She  seemed  to  catch  her  breath,  almost  as  though 
the  words  had  escaped  her  before  she  knew  it. 

"Is  there  anything  besides  your  dream  that  alarms 
you,"  he  asked,  changing  the  subject  quickly,  "any 
suspicion  of — say  the  servants?" 

"No,"  she  said,  watching  him  now.  "But  some 
time  ago  we  caught  a  burglar  upstairs  here.  He 
managed  to  escape.  That  has  made  me  nervous.  I 
didn't  think  it  was  possible." 

"Anything  else?" 

"No,"  she  said  positively,  this  time  on  her  guard. 

Kennedy  saw  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
say  no  more. 

"Mrs.  Hazleton,"  he  said,  rising.  "I  can  hardly 
thank  you  too  much  for  the  manner  in  which  you 
have  met  my  questions.  It  will  make  it  much  easier 
for  me  to  quiet  your  fears.  And  if  anything  else 
occurs  to  you,  you  may  rest  assured  I  shall  violate 
no  confidences  in  your  telling  me." 

I  could  not  help  the  feeling,  however,  that  there 
was  just  a  little  air  of  relief  on  her  face  as  we  left. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

THE  PSYCHANALYSIS 

"H-M,"  mused  Kennedy  as  we  walked  along  after 
leaving  the  house.  "There  were  several  'complexes,' 
as  they  are  called,  there — the  most  interesting  and 
important  being  the  erotic,  as  usual.  Now,  take  the 
lion  in  the  dream,  with  his  mane.  That,  I  suspect, 
was  Dr.  Maudsley.  If  you  are  acquainted  with  him, 
you  will  recall  his  heavy,  almost  tawny  beard." 

Kennedy  seemed  to  be  revolving  something  in  his 
mind  and  I  did  not  interrupt.  I  had  known  him  too 
long  to  feel  that  even  a  dream  might  not  have  its 
value  with  him.  Indeed,  several  times  before  he 
had  given  me  glimpses  into  the  fascinating  possibili- 
ties of  the  new  psychology. 

"In  spite  of  the  work  of  thousands  of  years,  lit- 
tle progress  has  been  made  in  the  scientific  under- 
standing of  dreams,"  he  remarked  a  few  moments 
later.  "Freud,  of  Vienna — you  recall  the  name? — 
has  done  most,  I  think  in  that  direction." 

I  recalled  something  of  the  theories  of  the  Freud- 
ists,  but  said  nothing. 

"It  is  an  unpleasant  feature  of  his  philosophy," 
he  went  on,  "but  Freud  finds  the  conclusion  irresisti- 
ble that  all  humanity  underneath  the  shell  is  sensu- 
ous and  sensual  in  nature.  Practically  all  dreams  be- 
tray some  delight  of  the  senses  and  sexual  dreams 
are  a  large  proportion.     There  is,  according  to  the 

355 


356  THE  WAR  TERROR 

theory,  always  a  wish  hidden  or  expressed  in  a 
dream.  The  dream  is  one  of  three  things,  the  open, 
the  disguised  or  the  distorted  fulfillment  of  a  wish, 
sometimes  recognized,  sometimes  repressed. 

"Anxiety  dreams  are  among  the  most  interesting 
and  imoortant.  Anxiety  may  originate  in  psycho- 
sexual  excitement,  the  repressed  libido,  as  the  Freud- 
ists  call  it.  Neurotic  fear  has  its  origin  in  sexual 
life  and  corresponds  to  a  libido  which  has  been 
turned  away  from  its  object  and  has  not  succeeded 
in  being  applied.  All  so-called  day  dreams  of 
women  are  erotic;  of  men  they  are  either  ambition 
or  love. 

"Often  dreams,  apparently  harmless,  turn  out  to 
be  sinister  if  we  take  pains  to  interpret  them.  All 
have  the  mark  of  the  beast.  For  example,  there 
was  that  unknown  woman  who  had  fallen  down  and 
was  surrounded  by  a  crowd.  If  a  woman  dreams 
that,  it  is  sexual.  It  can  mean  only  a  fallen  woman. 
That  is  the  symbolism.  The  crowd  always  denotes  a 
secret. 

"Take  also  the  dream  of  death.  If  there  is  no 
sorrow  felt,  then  there  is  another  cause  for  it.  But 
if  there  is  sorrow,  then  the  dreamer  really  desires 
death  or  absence.  I  expect  to  have  you  quarrel  with 
that.  But  read  Freud,  and  remember  that  in  child- 
hood death  is  synonymous  with  being  away.  Thus 
for  example,  if  a  girl  dreams  that  her  mother  is 
dead,  perhaps  it  means  only  that  she  wishes  her 
away  so  that  she  can  enjoy  some  pleasure  that  her 
strict  parent,  by  her  presence,  denies. 

"Then  there  was  that  dream  about  the  baby  in 
the  water.  That,  I  think,  was  a  dream  of  birth. 
You  see,  I  asked  her  practically  to  repeat  the  dreams 
because  there  were  several  gaps.    At  such  points  one 


THE  PSYCHANALYSIS  357 

usually  finds  first  hesitation,  then  something  that 
shows  one  of  the  main  complexes.  Perhaps  the  sub- 
ject grows  angry  at  the  discovery. 

"Now,  from  the  tangle  of  the  dream  thought,  I 
find  that  she  fears  that  her  husband  is  too  intimate 
with  another  woman,  and  that  perhaps  uncon- 
sciously she  has  turned  to  Dr.  Maudsley  for  sym- 
pathy. Dr.  Maudsley,  as  I  said,  is  not  only  bearded, 
but  somewhat  of  a  social  lion.  He  had  called  on  her 
the  day  before.  Of  such  stuff  are  all  dream  lions 
when  there  is  no  fear.  But  she  shows  that  she  has 
been  guilty  of  no  wrongdoing — she  escaped,  and 
felt  relieved." 

"I'm  glad  of  that,"  I  put  in.  "I  don't  like  these 
scandals.  On  the  Star  when  I  have  to  report  them, 
I  do  it  always  under  protest.  I  don't  know  what 
your  psychanalysis  is  going  to  show  in  the  end,  but 
I  for  one  have  the  greatest  sympathy  for  that  poor 
little  woman  in  the  big  house  alone,  surrounded  by 
and  dependent  on  servants,  while  her  husband  is  out 
collecting  scandals." 

"Which  suggests  our  next  step,"  he  said,  turning 
the  subject.  "I  hope  that  Butler  has  found  out  the 
retreat  of  Veronica  Haversham." 

We  discovered  Miss  Haversham  at  last  at  Dr. 
Klemm's  sanitarium,  up  in  the  hills  of  Westchester 
County,  a  delightful  place  with  a  reputation  for  its 
rest  cures.  Dr.  Klemm  was  an  old  friend  of  Ken- 
nedy's, having  had  some  connection  with  the  medical 
school  at  the  University. 

She  had  gone  up  there  rather  suddenly,  it  seemed, 
to  recuperate.  At  least  that  was  what  was  given 
out,  though  there  seemed  to  be  much  mystery  about 
her,  and  she  was  taking  no  treatment  as  far  as  was 
known. 


358  THE  WAR  TERROR 

"Who  is  her  physician?"  asked  Kennedy  of  Dr. 
Klemm  as  we  sat  in  his  luxurious  office. 

"A  Dr.  Maudsley  of  the  city." 

Kennedy  glanced  quickly  at  me  in  time  to  check 
an  exclamation. 

"I  wonder  if  I  could  see  her?" 

"Why,  of  course — if  she  is  willing,"  replied  Dr. 
Klemm. 

"I  will  have  to  have  some  excuse,"  ruminated 
Kennedy.  "Tell  her  I  am  a  specialist  in  nervous 
troubles  from  the  city,  have  been  visiting  one  of  the 
other  patients,  anything." 

Dr.  Klemm  pulled  down  a  switch  on  a  large  ob- 
long oak  box  on  his  desk,  asked  for  Miss  Haver- 
sham,  and  waited  a  moment. 

"What  is  that?"  I  asked. 

"A  vocaphone,"  replied  Kennedy.  "This  sani- 
tarium is  quite  up  to  date,  Klemm." 

The  doctor  nodded  and  smiled.  "Yes,  Kennedy," 
he  replied.  "Communicating  with  every  suite  of 
rooms  we  have  the  vocaphone.  I  find  it  very  con- 
venient to  have  these  microphones,  as  I  suppose  you 
would  call  them,  catching  your  words  without  talk- 
ing into  them  directly  as  you  have  to  do  in  the  tele- 
phone and  then  at  the  other  end  emitting  the  words 
without  the  use  of  an  earpiece,  from  the  box  itself, 
as  if  from  a  megaphone  horn.  Miss  Haversham, 
this  is  Dr.  Klemm.  There  is  a  Dr.  Kennedy  here 
visiting  another  patient,  a  specialist  from  New  York. 
He'd  like  very  much  to  see  you  if  you  can  spare  a 
few  minutes." 

"Tell  him  to  come  up."  The  voice  seemed  to 
come  from  the  vocaphone  as  though  she  were  in  the 
room  with  us. 

Veronica  Haversham  was  indeed  wonderful,  one 


THE  PSYCHANALYSIS  359 

of  the  leading  figures  in  the  night  life  of  New  York, 
a  statuesque  brunette  of  striking  beauty,  though  I 
had  heard  of  often  ungovernable  temper.  Yet  there 
was  something  strange  about  her  face  here.  It 
seemed  perhaps  a  little  yellow,  and  I  am  sure  that 
her  nose  had  a  peculiar  look  as  if  she  were  suffering 
from  an  incipient  rhinitis.  The  pupils  of  her  eyes 
were  as  fine  as  pin  heads,  her  eyebrows  were  slightly 
elevated.  Indeed,  I  felt  that  she  had  made  no  mis- 
take in  taking  a  rest  if  she  would  preserve  the  beauty 
which  had  made  her  popularity  so  meteoric. 

"Miss  Haversham,"  began  Kennedy,  "they  tell 
me  that  you  are  suffering  from  nervousness.  Per- 
haps I  can  help  you.  At  any  rate  it  will  do  no  harm 
to  try.  I  know  Dr.  Maudsley  well,  and  if  he  doesn't 
approve — well,  you  may  throw  the  treatment  into 
the  waste  basket." 

"I'm  sure  I  have  no  reason  to  refuse,"  she  said. 
"What  would  you  suggest?" 

"Well,  first  of  all,  there  is  a  very  simple  test  I'd 
like  to  try.  You  won't  find  that  it  bothers  you  in 
the  least — and  if  I  can't  help  you,  then  no  harm  is 
done." 

Again  I  watched  Kennedy  as  he  tactfully  went 
through  the  preparations  for  another  kind  of 
psychanalysis,  placing  Miss  Haversham  at  her  ease 
on  a  davenport  in  such  a  way  that  nothing  would 
distract  her  attention.  As  she  reclined  against  the 
leather  pillows  in  the  shadow  it  was  not  difficult  to 
understand  the  lure  by  which  she  held  together  the 
little  coterie  of  her  intimates.  One  beautiful  white 
arm,  bare  to  the  elbow,  hung  carelessly  over  the 
edge  of  the  davenport,  displaying  a  plain  gold  brace- 
let. 

"Now,"  began  Kennedy,  on  whom  I  knew  the 


36° 


THE  WAR  TERROR 


charms  of  Miss  Haversham  produced  a  negative 
effect,  although  one  would  never  have  guessed  it 
from  his  manner,  "as  I  read  off  from  this  list  of 
words,  I  wish  that  you  would  repeat  the  first  thing, 
anything,"  he  emphasized,  "that  comes  into  your 
head,  no  matter  how  trivial  it  may  seem.  Don't 
force  yourself  to  think.  Let  your  ideas  flow  natu- 
rally. It  depends  altogether  on  your  paying  atten- 
tion to  the  words  and  answering  as  quickly  as  you 
can — remember,  the  first  word  that  comes  into  your 
mind.  It  is  easy  to  do.  We'll  call  it  a  game,"  he 
reassured. 

Kennedy  handed  a  copy  of  the  list  to  me  to  record 
the  answers.  There  must  have  been  some  fifty 
words,  apparently  senseless,  chosen  at  random,  it 
seemed.    They  were : 


head 

to  dance 

salt 

white 

lie 

green 

sick 

new 

child 

to  fear 

water 

pride 

to  pray 

sad 

stork 

to  sing 

ink 

money 

to  marry 

false 

death 

angry 

foolish 

dear 

anxiety 

long 

needle 

despise 

to  quarrel 

to  kiss 

ship 

voyage 

finger 

old 

bride 

to  pay 

to  sin 

expensive 

family 

pure 

window 

bread 

to  fall 

friend 

ridicule 

cold 

rich 

unjust 

luck 

to  sleep 

"The  Jung  association  word  test  is  part  of  the 
Freud  psychanalysis,  also,"  he  whispered  to  me. 
"You  remember  we  tried  something  based  on  the 
same  idea  once  before?" 

I  nodded.  I  had  heard  of  the  thing  in  connecv 
tion  with  blood-pressure  tests,  but  not  this  way. 

Kennedy  called  out  the  first  word,  "Head,"  while 


THE  PSYCHANALYSIS  361 

in  his  hand  he  held  a  stop  watch  which  registered  to 
one-fifth  of  a  second. 

Quickly  she  replied,  "Ache,"  with  an  involuntary 
movement  of  her  hand  toward  her  beautiful  fore- 
head. 

"Good,"  exclaimed  Kennedy.  "You  seem  to 
grasp  the  idea  better  than  most  of  my  patients." 

I  had  recorded  the  answer,  he  the  time,  and  we 
found  out,  I  recall  afterward,  that  the  time  aver- 
aged something  like  two  and  two-fifths  seconds. 

I  thought  her  reply  to  the  second  word,  "green," 
was  curious.     It  came  quickly,  "Envy." 

However,  I  shall  not  attempt  to  give  all  the  re- 
plies, but  merely  some  of  the  most  significant.  There 
did  not  seem  to  be  any  hesitation  about  most  of  the 
words,  but  whenever  Kennedy  tried  to  question  her 
about  a  word  that  seemed  to  him  interesting  she 
made  either  evasive  or  hesitating  answers,  until  it  be- 
came evident  that  in  the  back  of  her  head  was  some 
idea  which  she  was  repressing  and  concealing  from 
us,  something  that  she  set  off  with  a  mental  "No 
Thoroughfare." 

He  had  finished  going  through  the  list,  and  Ken- 
nedy was  now  studying  over  the  answers  and  com- 
paring the  time  records. 

"Now,"  he  said  at  length,  running  his  eye  over 
the  words  again,  "I  want  to  repeat  the  performance. 
Try  to  remember  and  duplicate  your  first  replies," 
he  said. 

Again  we  went  through  what  at  first  had  seemed 
to  me  to  be  a  solemn  farce,  but  which  I  began  to  see 
was  quite  important.  Sometimes  she  would  repeat 
the  answer  exactly  as  before.  At  other  times  a  new 
word  would  occur  to  her.  Kennedy  was  lr ten  to  note 
all  the  differences  in  the  two  lists. 

24- 


362  THE  WAR  TERROR 

One  which  I  recall  because  the  incident  made  an 
impression  on  me  had  to  do  with  the  trio,  "Death — 
life — inevitable." 

"Why  that?"  he  asked  casually. 

"Haven't  you  ever  heard  the  saying,  'One  should 
let  nothing  which  one  can  have  escape,  even  if  a 
little  wrong  is  done;  no  opportunity  should  be 
missed;  life  is  so  short,  death  inevitable'?" 

There  were  several  others  which  to  Kennedy 
seemed  more  important,  but  long  after  we  had  fin- 
ished I  pondered  this  answer.  Was  that  her  philoso- 
phy of  life?  Undoubtedly  she  would  never  have  re- 
membered the  phrase  if  it  had  not  been  so,  at  least 
in  a  measure. 

She  had  begun  to  show  signs  of  weariness,  and 
Kennedy  quickly  brought  the  conversation  around  to 
subjects  of  apparently  a  general  nature,  but  skillfully 
contrived  so  as  to  lead  the  way  along  lines  her  an- 
swers had  indicated. 

Kennedy  had  risen  to  go,  still  chatting.  Almost 
unintentionally  he  picked  up  from  a  dressing  table  a 
bottle  of  white  tablets,  without  a  label,  shaking  it  to 
emphasize  an  entirely,  and  I  believe  purposely,  ir- 
relevant remark. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  breaking  off  naturally, 
"what  is  that?" 

"Only  something  Dr.  Maudsley  had  prescribed 
for  me,"  she  answered  quickly. 

As  he  replaced  the  bottle  and  went  on  with  the 
thread  of  the  conversation,  I  saw  that  in  shaking  the 
bottle  he  had  abstracted  a  couple  of  the  tablets  be- 
fore she  realized  it. 

"I  can't  tell  you  just  what  to  do  without  thinking 
the  case  over,"  he  concluded,  rising  to  go.  "Yours 
is  a  peculiar  case,  Miss  Haversham,  baffling.     I'll 


THE  PSYCHANALYSIS  363 

have  to  study  it  over,  perhaps  ask  Dr.  Maudsley  if 
I  may  see  you  again.  Meanwhile,  I  am  sure  what 
he  is  doing  is  the  correct  thing." 

Inasmuch  as  she  had  said  nothing  about  what  Dr. 
Maudsley  was  doing,  I  wondered  whether  there  was 
not  just  a  trace  of  suspicion  in  her  glance  at  him 
from  under  her  long  dark  lashes. 

"I  can't  see  that  you  have  done  anything,"  she  re- 
marked pointedly.  "But  then  doctors  are  queer — 
queer." 

That  parting  shot  also  had  in  it,  for  me,  some- 
thing to  ponder  over.  In  fact  I  began  to  wonder  if 
she  might  not  be  a  great  deal  more  clever  than  even 
Kennedy  gave  her  credit  for  being,  whether  she 
might  not  have  submitted  to  his  tests  for  pure  love 
of  pulling  the  wool  over  his  eyes. 

Downstairs  again,  Kennedy  paused  only  long 
enough  to  speak  a  few  words  with  his  friend  Dr. 
Klemm. 

"I  suppose  you  have  no  idea  what  Dr.  Maudsley 
has  prescribed  for  her?"  he  asked  carelessly. 

"Nothing,  as  far  as  I  know,  except  rest  and  sim- 
ple food." 

He  seemed  to  hesitate,  then  he  said  under  his 
voice,  "I  suppose  you  know  that  she  is  a  regular 
dope  fiend,  seasons  her  cigarettes  with  opium,  and 
all  that." 

"I  guessed  as  much,"  remarked  Kennedy,  "but 
how  does  she  get  it  here?" 

"She  doesn't." 

"I  see,"  remarked  Craig,  apparently  weighing 
now  the  man  before  him.  At  length  he  seemed  to 
decide  to  risk  something. 

"Klemm,"  he  said,  "I  wish  you  would  do  some- 
thing for  me.     I  see  you  have  the  vocaphone  here. 


364  THE  WAR  TERROR 

Now  if — say  Hazleton — should  call — will  you  lis- 
ten in  on  that  vocaphone  for  me?" 

Dr.  Klemm  looked  squarely  at  him. 

"Kennedy,"  he  said,  "it's  unprofessional,  but " 

"So  it  is  to  let  her  be  doped  up  under  guise  of  a 
cure." 

"What?"  he  asked,  startled.  "She's  getting  the 
stuff  now?" 

"No,  I  didn't  say  she  was  getting  opium,  or  from 
anyone  here.  All  the  same,  if  you  would  just  keep 
an  ear  open " 

"It's  unprofessional,  but — you'd  not  ask  it  with- 
out a  good  reason.    I'll  try." 

It  was  very  late  when  we  got  back  to  the  city  and 
we  dined  at  an  uptown  restaurant  which  we  had  al- 
most to%ourselves. 

Kennedy  had  placed  the  little  whitish  tablets  in  a 
small  paper  packet  for  safe  keeping.  As  we  waited 
for  our  order  he  drew  one  from  his  pocket,  and 
after  looking  at  it  a  moment  crushed  it  to  a  powder 
in  the  paper. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked  curiously.     "Cocaine?" 

"No,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head  doubtfully. 

He  had  tried  to  dissolve  a  little  of  the  powder  in 
some  water  from  the  glass  before  him,  but  it  would 
not  dissolve. 

As  he  continued  to  look  at  it  his  eye  fell  on  the  cut- 
glass  vinegar  cruet  before  us.  It  was  full  of  the 
white  vinegar. 

"Really  acetic  acid,"  he  remarked,  pouring  out  a 
little. 

The  white  powder  dissolved. 

For  several  minutes  he  continued  looking  at  the 
stuff. 

"That,  I  think,"  he  remarked  finally,  "is  heroin." 


THE  PSYCHANALYSIS  365 

"More  'happy  dust'?"  I  replied  with  added  in- 
terest now,  thinking  of  our  previous  case.  "Is  the 
habit  so  extensive?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "the  habit  is  comparatively 
new,  although  in  Paris,  I  believe,  they  call  the  drug 
fiends,  'heroinomaniacs.'  It  is,  as  I  told  you  before, 
a  derivative  of  morphine.  Its  scientific  name  is 
diacetyl-morphin.  It  is  New  York's  newest  peril, 
one  of  the  most  dangerous  drugs  yet.  Thousands 
are  slaves  to  it,  although  its  sale  is  supposedly  re- 
stricted. It  is  rotting  the  heart  out  of  the  Tender- 
loin. Did  you  notice  Veronica  Haversham's  yellow- 
ish whiteness,  her  down-drawn  mouth,  elevated  eye- 
brows, and  contracted  eyes?  She  may  have  taken  it 
up  to  escape  other  drugs.  Some  people  have — and 
have  just  got  a  new  habit.  It  can  be  taken  hypoderm- 
ically,  or  in  a  tablet,  or  by  powdering  the  tablet  to 
a  white  crystalline  powder  and  snuffing  up  the  nose. 
That's  the  way  she  takes  it.  It  produces  rhinitis  of 
the  nasal  passages,  which  I  see  you  observed,  but 
did  not  understand.  It  has  a  more  profound  effect 
than  morphine,  and  is  ten  times  as  powerful  as 
codeine.  And  one  of  the  worst  features  is  that  so 
many  people  start  with  it,  thinking  it  is  as  harmless 
as  it  has  been  advertised.  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if 
she  used  from  seventy-five  to  a  hundred  one-twelfth 
grain  tablets  a  day.     Some  of  them  do,  you  know." 

"And  Dr.  Maudsley,"  I  asked  quickly,  "do  you 
think  it  is  through  him  or  in  spite  of  him?" 

"That's  what  I'd  like  to  know.  About  those 
words,"  he  continued,  "what  did  you  make  of  the 
list  and  the  answers?" 

I  had  made  nothing  and  said  so,  rather  quickly. 

"Those,"  he  explained,  "were  words  selected  and 
arranged  to  strike  almost  all  the  common  complexes 


366  THE  WAR  TERROR 

in  analyzing  and  diagnosing.  You'd  think  any  in- 
telligent person  could  give  a  fluent  answer  to  them, 
perhaps  a  misleading  answer.  But  try  it  yourself, 
Walter.  You'll  find  you  can't.  You  may  start  all 
right,  but  not  all  the  words  will  be  reacted  to  in  the 
same  time  or  with  the  same  smoothness  and  ease. 
Yet,  like  the  expressions  of  a  dream,  they  often 
seem  senseless.  But  they  have  a  meaning  as  soon 
as  they  are  'psychanalyzed.'  All  the  mistakes  in  an- 
swering the  second  time,  for  example,  have  a  rea- 
son, if  we  can  only  get  at  it.  They  are  not  arbi- 
trary answers,  but  betray  the  inmost  subconscious 
thoughts,  those  things  marked,  split  off  from  con- 
sciousness and  repressed  into  the  unconscious.  As- 
sociations, like  dreams,  never  lie.  You  may  try  to 
conceal  the  emotions  and  unconscious  actions,  but 
you  can't." 

I  listened,  fascinated  by  Kennedy's  explanation. 

"Anyone  can  see  that  that  woman  has  something 
on  her  mind  besides  the  heroin  habit.  It  may  be 
that  she  is  trying  to  shake  the  habit  off  in  order  to 
do  it;  it  may  be  that  she  seeks  relief  from  her 
thoughts  by  refuge  in  the  habit;  and  it  may  be  that 
some  one  has  purposely  caused  her  to  contract  this 
new  habit  in  the  guise  of  throwing  off  an  old.  The 
only  way  by  which  to  find  out  is  to  study  the 
case." 

He  paused.  He  had  me  keenly  on  edge,  but  I 
knew  that  he  was  not  yet  in  a  position  to  answer  his 
queries  positively. 

"Now  I  found,"  he  went  on,  "that  the  religious 
complexes  were  extremely  few;  as  I  expected  the 
erotic  were  many.  If  you  will  look  over  the  three 
lists  you  will  find  something  queer  about  every  such 
word  as,  'child,'  'to  marry,'  'bride,'  'to  lie,'  'stork,* 


THE  PSYCHANALYSIS  367 

and  so  on.  We're  on  the  right  track.  That  woman 
does  know  something  about  that  child." 

"My  eye  catches  the  words  'to  sin/  'to  fall,' 
'pure/  and  others,"  I  remarked,  glancing  over  the 
list. 

"Yes,  there's  something  there,  too.  I  got  the  hint 
for  the  drug  from  her  hesitation  over  'needle'  and 
'white.'  But  the  main  complex  has  to  do  with  words 
relating  to  that  child  and  to  love.  In  short,  I  think 
we  are  going  to  find  it  to  be  the  reverse  of  the  rule 
of  the  French,  that  it  will  be  a  case  of  'cherchez 
l'homme.'  " 

Early  the  next  day  Kennedy,  after  a  night  of 
studying  over  the  case,  journeyed  up  to  the  sani- 
tarium again.  We  found  Dr.  Klemm  eager  to  meet 
us. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Kennedy,  equally  eager. 

"I  overheard  some  surprising  things  over  the  vo- 
caphone,"  he  hastened.  "Hazleton  called.  Why, 
there  must  have  been  some  wild  orgies  in  that 
precious  set  of  theirs,  and,  would  you  believe  it, 
many  of  them  seem  to  have  been  at  what  Dr.  Mauds- 
ley  calls  his  'stable  studio,'  a  den  he  has  fixed  up 
artistically  over  his  garage  on  a  side  street." 

"Indeed?" 

"I  couldn't  get  it  all,  but  I  did  hear  her  repeating 
over  and  over  to  Hazleton,  'Aren't  you  all  mine? 
Aren't  you  all  mine?'  There  must  be  some  vague 
jealousy  lurking  in  the  heart  of  that  ardent  woman. 
I  can't  figure  it  out." 

"I'd  like  to  see  her  again,"  remarked  Kennedy. 
"Will  you  ask  her  if  I  may?" 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 

THE  ENDS  OF  JUSTICE 

A  FEW  minutes  later  we  were  in  the  sitting  room 
of  her  suite.  She  received  us  rather  ungraciously,  I 
thought. 

"Do  you  feel  any  better?"  asked  Kennedy. 

"No,"  she  replied  curtly.  "Excuse  me  for  a  mo- 
ment.   I  wish  to  see  that  maid  of  mine.    Clarisse!" 

She  had  hardly  left  the  room  when  Kennedy  was 
on  his  feet.  The  bottle  of  white  tablets,  nearly 
empty,  was  still  on  the  table.  I  saw  him  take  some 
very  fine  white  powder  and  dust  it  quickly  over  the 
bottle.  It  seemed  to  adhere,  and  from  his  pocket  he 
quickly  drew  a  piece  of  what  seemed  to  be  specially 
prepared  paper,  laid  it  over  the  bottle  where  the 
powder  adhered,  fitting  it  over  the  curves.  He 
withdrew  it  quickly,  for  outside  we  heard  her  light 
step,  returning.  I  am  sure  she  either  saw  or  sus- 
pected that  Kennedy  had  been  touching  the  bottle  of 
tablets,  for  there  was  a  look  of  startled  fear  on  her 
face. 

"Then  you  do  not  feel  like  continuing  the  tests 
we  abandoned  last  night?"  asked  Kennedy,  ap- 
parently not  noticing  her  look. 

"No,  I  do  not,"  she  almost  snapped.  "You — 
you  are  detectives.     Mrs.  Hazleton  has  sent  you." 

"Indeed,  Mrs.  Hazleton  has  not  sent  us,"  in- 
368 


THE  ENDS  OF  JUSTICE  369 

sisted  Kennedy,  never  for  an  instant  showing  his  sur- 
prise at  her  mention  of  the  name. 

"You  are.  You  can  tell  her,  you  can  tell  every- 
body. I'll  tell — I'll  tell  myself.  I  won't  wait.  That 
child  is  mine — mine — not  hers.     Now — go  I" 

Veronica  Haversham  on  the  stage  never  towered 
in  a  fit  of  passion  as  she  did  now  in  real  life,  as  her 
ungovernable  feelings  broke  forth  tempestuously 
on  us. 

I  was  astounded,  bewildered  at  the  revelation,  the 
possibilities  in  those  simple  words,  "The  child  is 
mine."  For  a  moment  I  was  stunned.  Then  as  the 
full  meaning  dawned  on  me  I  wondered  in  a  flood  of 
consciousness  whether  it  was  true.  Was  it  the 
product  of  her  drug-disordered  brain?  Had  her 
desperate  love  for  Hazleton  produced  a  hallucina- 
tion? 

Kennedy,  silent,  saw  that  the  case  demanded  quick 
action.  I  shall  never  forget  the  breathless  ride  down 
from  the  sanitarium  to  the  Hazleton  house  on  River- 
side Drive. 

"Mrs.  Hazleton,"  he  cried,  as  we  hurried  in,  "you 
will  pardon  me  for  this  unceremonious  intrusion,  but 
it  is  most  important.  May  I  trouble  you  to  place 
your  fingers  on  this  paper — so?" 

He  held  out  to  her  a  piece  of  the  prepared  paper. 
She  looked  at  him  once,  then  saw  from  his  face  that 
he  was  not  to  be  questioned.  Almost  tremulously 
she  did  as  he  said,  saying  not  a  word.  I  wondered 
whether  she  knew  the  story  of  Veronica,  or  whether 
so  far  only  hints  of  it  had  been  brought  to  her. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  quickly.  "Now,  if  I  may 
see  Morton?" 

It  was  the  first  time  we  had  seen  the  baby  about 
whom  the  rapidly  thickening  events  were  crowding. 


37o  THE  WAR  TERROR 

He  was  a  perfect  specimen  of  well-cared-for,  scien- 
tific infant. 

Kennedy  took  the  little  chubby  fingers  playfully 
in  his  own.  He  seemed  at  once  to  win  the  child's 
confidence,  though  he  may  have  violated  scientific 
rules.  One  by  one  he  pressed  the  little  fingers  on 
the  paper,  until  little  Morton  crowed  with  delight 
as  one  little  piggy  after  another  "went  to  market." 
He  had  deserted  thousands  of  dollars'  worth  of 
toys  just  to  play  with  the  simple  piece  of  paper  Ken- 
nedy had  brought  with  him.  As  I  looked  at  him, 
I  thought  of  what  Kennedy  had  said  at  the  start. 
Perhaps  this  innocent  child  was  not  to  be  envied 
after  all.  I  could  hardly  restrain  my  excitement 
over  the  astounding  situation  which  had  suddenly 
developed. 

"That  will  do,"  announced  Kennedy  finally,  care- 
lessly folding  up  the  paper  and  slipping  it  into  his 
pocket.     "You  must  excuse  me  now." 

"You  see,"  he  explained  on  the  way  to  the  labora- 
tory, "that  powder  adheres  to  fresh  finger  prints, 
taking  all  the  gradations.  Then  the  paper  with  its 
paraffine  and  glycerine  coating  takes  off  the  pow- 
der." 

In  the  laboratory  he  buried  himself  in  work,  with 
microscope  compasses,  calipers,  while  I  fumed  im- 
potently  at  the  window. 

"Walter,"  he  called  suddenly,  "get  Dr.  Maudsley 
on  the  telephone.  Tell  him  to  come  immediately  to 
the  laboratory." 

Meanwhile  Kennedy  was  busy  arranging  what  he 
had  discovered  in  logical  order  and  putting  on  it  the 
finishing  touches. 

As  Dr.  Maudsley  entered  Kennedy  greeted  him 
and  began  by  plunging  directly  into  the  case  in  an- 


THE  ENDS  OF  JUSTICE  37 1 

swer  to  his  rather  discourteous  inquiry  as  to  why 
he  had  been  so  hastily  summoned. 

"Dr.  Maudsley,"  said  Craig,  "I  have  asked  you 
to  call  alone  because,  while  I  am  on  the  verge  of  dis- 
covering the  truth  in  an  important  case  affecting 
Morton  Hazleton  and  his  wife,  I  am  frankly  per- 
plexed as  to  how  to  go  ahead." 

The  doctor  seemed  to  shake  with  excitement  as 
Kennedy  proceeded. 

"Dr.  Maudsley,"  Craig  added,  dropping  his 
voice,  "is  Morton  III  the  son  of  Millicent  Hazleton 
or  not?  You  were  the  physician  in  attendance  on 
her  at  the  birth.    Is  he?" 

Maudsley  had  been  watching  Kennedy  furtively 
at  first,  but  as  he  rapped  out  the  words  I  thought 
the  doctor's  eyes  would  pop  out  of  his  head. 
Perspiration  in  great  beads  collected  on  his  face. 

"P-professor  K-Kennedy,"  he  muttered,  franti- 
cally rubbing  his  face  and  lower  jaw  as  if  to  com- 
pose the  agitation  he  could  so  ill  conceal,  "let  me 
explain." 

"Yes,  yes — go  on,"  urged  Kennedy. 

"Mrs.  Hazleton's  baby  was  born — <lead.  I  knew 
how  much  she  and  the  rest  of  the  family  had  longed 
for  an  heir,  how  much  it  meant.  And  I — substituted 
for  the  dead  child  a  newborn  baby  from  the  ma- 
ternity hospital.  It — it  belonged  to  Veronica  Haver- 
sham — then  a  poor  chorus  girl.  I  did  not  intend 
that  she  should  ever  know  it.  I  intended  that  she 
should  think  her  baby  was  dead.  But  in  some  way 
she  found  out.  Since  then  she  has  become  a  famous 
beauty,  has  numbered  among  her  friends  even 
Hazleton  himself.  For  nearly  two  years  I  have 
tried  to  keep  her  from  divulging  the  secret.  From 
time  to  time  hints  of  it  have  leaked  out.     I  knew 


372  THE  WAR  TERROR 

that  if  Hazleton  with  his  infatuation  of  her  were 
to  learn " 

"And  Mrs.  Hazleton,  has  she  been  told?"  inter- 
rupted Kennedy. 

"I  have  been  trying  to  keep  it  from  her  as  long  as 
I  can,  but  it  has  been  difficult  to  keep  Veronica  from 
telling  it.  Hazleton  himself  was  so  wild  over  her. 
And  she  wanted  her  son  as  she " 

"Maudsley,"  snapped  out  Kennedy,  slapping 
down  on  the  table  the  mass  of  prints  and  charts 
which  he  had  hurriedly  collected  and  was  studying, 
"you  lie !  Morton  is  Millicent  Hazleton's  son.  The 
whole  story  is  blackmail.  I  knew  it  when  she  told 
me  of  her  dreams  and  I  suspected  first  some  such 
devilish  scheme  as  yours.  Now  I  know  it  scientifi- 
cally." 

He  turned  over  the  prints. 

"I  suppose  that  study  of  these  prints,  Maudsley, 
will  convey  nothing  to  you.  I  know  that  it  is  usu- 
ally stated  that  there  are  no  two  sets  of  finger  prints 
in  the  world  that  are  identical  or  that  can  be  con- 
fused. Still,  there  are  certain  similarities  of  finger 
prints  and  other  characteristics,  and  these  similari- 
ties have  recently  been  exhaustively  studied  by  Ber- 
tillon,  who  has  found  that  there  are  clear  relation- 
ships sometimes  between  mother  and  child  in  these 
respects.  If  Solomon  were  alive,  doctor,  he  would 
not  now  have  to  resort  to  the  expedient  to  which  he 
did  when  the  two  women  disputed  over  the  right  to 
the  living  child.  Modern  science  is  now  deciding  by 
exact  laboratory  methods  the  same  problem  as  he 
solved  by  his  unique  knowledge  of  feminine  psychol- 
ogy- 

"I  saw  how  this  case  was  tending.  Not  a  moment 
too  soon,  I  said  to  myself,  'The  hand  of  the  child 


THE  ENDS  OF  JUSTICE  373 

will  tell.'  By  the  very  variations  in  unlike  things, 
such  as  finger  and  palm  prints,  as  tabulated  and  ar- 
ranged by  Bertillon  after  study  in  thousands  of  cases, 
by  the  very  loops,  whorls,  arches  and  composites,  I 
have  proved  my  case. 

"The  dominancy,  not  the  identity,  of  heredity 
through  the  infinite  varieties  of  finger  markings  is 
sometimes  very  striking.  Unique  patterns  in  a 
parent  have  been  repeated  with  marvelous  accuracy 
in  the  child.  I  knew  that  negative  results  might 
prove  nothing  in  regard  to  parentage,  a  caution 
which  it  is  important  to  observe.  But  I  was  pre- 
pared to  meet  even  that. 

"I  would  have  gone  on  into  other  studies,  such 
as  Tammasia's,  of  heredity  in  the  veining  of  the 
back  of  the  hands;  I  would  have  measured  the 
hands,  compared  the  relative  proportion  of  the 
parts;  I  would  have  studied  them  under  the  X-ray 
as  they  are  being  studied  to-day;  I  would  have  tried 
the  Reichert  blood  crystal  test  which  is  being  per- 
fected now  so  that  it  will  tell  heredity  itself.  There 
is  no  scientific  stone  I  would  have  left  unturned  until 
I  had  delved  at  the  truth  of  this  riddle.  Fortunately 
it  was  not  necessary.  Simple  finger  prints  have  told 
me  enough.  And  best  of  all,  it  has  been  in  time  to 
frustrate  that  devilish  scheme  you  and  Veronica 
Haversham  have  been  slowly  unfolding." 

Maudsley  crumpled  up,  as  it  were,  at  Kennedy's 
denunciation.   He  seemed  to  shrink  toward  the  door. 

"Yes,"  cried  Kennedy,  with  extended  forefinger, 
"you  may  go — for  the  present.  Don't  try  to  run 
away.     You're  watched  from  this  moment  on." 

Maudsley  had  retreated  precipitately. 

I  looked  at  Kennedy  inquiringly.  What  to  do? 
It  was  indeed  a  delicate  situation,  requiring  the  ut- 


374  THE  WAR  TERROR 

most  care  to  handle.  If  the  story  had  been  told  to 
Hazleton,  what  might  he  not  have  already  done? 
He  must  be  found  first  of  all  if  we  were  to  meet  the 
conspiracy  of  these  two. 

Kennedy  reached  quickly  for  the  telephone. 
"There  is  one  stream  of  scandal  that  can  be  dammed 
at  its  source,"  he  remarked,  calling  a  number. 
"Hello.  Klemm's  Sanitarium?  I'd  like  to  speak 
with  Miss  Haversham.  What — gone?  Disap- 
peared?   Escaped?" 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  and  looked  at  me  blankly. 
I  was  speechless. 

A  thousand  ideas  flew  through  our  minds  at  once. 
Had  she  perceived  the  import  of  our  last  visit  and 
was  she  now  on  her  way  to  complete  her  plotted 
slander  of  Millicent  Hazleton,  though  it  pulled 
down  on  herself  in  the  end  the  whole  structure? 

Hastily  Kennedy  called  Hazleton's  home,  But- 
ler, and  one  after  another  of  Hazleton's  favorite 
clubs.  It  was  not  until  noon  that  Butler  himself 
found  him  and  came  with  him,  under  protest,  to 
the  laboratory. 

"What  is  it — what  have  you  found?"  cried  But- 
ler, his  lean  form  a-quiver  with  suppressed  excite- 
ment. 

Briefly,  one  fact  after  another,  sparing  Hazleton 
nothing,  Kennedy  poured  forth  the  story,  how  by  hint 
and  innuendo  Maudsley  had  been  working  on  Milli- 
cent, undermining  her,  little  knowing  that  he  had  at- 
tacked in  her  a  very  tower  of  strength,  how  Veron~ 
ica,  infatuated  by  him,  had  infatuated  him,  had  led 
him  on  step  by  step. 

Pale  and  agitated,  with  nerves  unstrung  by  the 
life  he  had  been  leading,  Hazleton  listened.  And  as 
Kennedy  hammered  one  fact  after  another  home,  he 


THE  ENDS  OF  JUSTICE  375 

clenched  his  fists  until  the  nails  dug  into  his  very 
palms. 

"The  scoundrels,"  he  ground  out,  as  Kennedy  fin- 
ished by  painting  the  picture  of  the  brave  little 
broken-hearted  woman  fighting  off  she  knew  not 
what,  and  the  golden-haired,  innocent  baby  stretch- 
ing out  his  arms  in  glee  at  the  very  chance  to  prove 
that  he  was  what  he  was.  "The  scoundrels — take 
me  to  Maudsley  now.  I  must  see  Maudsley. 
Quick!" 

As  we  pulled  up  before  the  door  of  the  recon- 
structed stable-studio,  Kennedy  jumped  out.  The 
door  was  unlocked.  Up  the  broad  flight  of  stairs, 
Hazleton  went  two  at  a  time.  We  followed  him 
closely. 

Lying  on  the  divan  in  the  room  that  had  been  the 
scene  of  so  many  orgies,  locked  in  each  other's  arms, 
were  two  figures — Veronica  Haversham  and  Dr. 
Maudsley. 

She  must  have  gone  there  directly  after  our  visit 
to  Dr.  Klemm's,  must  have  been  waiting  for  him 
when  he  returned  with  his  story  of  the  exposure  to 
answer  her  fears  of  us  as  Mrs.  Hazleton's  detec- 
tives. In  a  frenzy  of  intoxication  she  must  have 
flung  her  arms  blindly  about  him  in  a  last  wild  em- 
brace. 

Hazleton  looked,  aghast. 

He  leaned  over  and  took  her  arm.  Before  he 
could  frame  the  name,  "Veronica!"  he  had  recoiled. 

The  two  were  cold  and  rigid. 

"An  overdose  of  heroin  this  time,"  muttered  Ken- 
nedy. 

My  head  was  in  a  whirl. 

Hazleton  stared  blankly  at  the  two  figures  ab- 
jectly lying  before  him,  as  the  truth  burned  itself 


376  THE  WAR  TERROR 

indelibly  into  his  soul.  He  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands.    And  still  he  saw  it  all. 

Craig  said  nothing.  He  was  content  to  let  what 
he  had  shown  work  in  the  man's  mind. 

"For  the  sake  of — that  baby — would  she — would 
she  forgive?"  asked  Hazleton,  turning  desperately 
toward  Kennedy. 

Deliberately  Kennedy  faced  him,  not  as  scientist 
and  millionaire,  but  as  man  and  man. 

"From  my  psychanalysis,"  he  said  slowly,  "I 
should  say  that  it  is  within  your  power,  in  time,  to 
change  those  dreams." 

Hazleton  grasped  Kennedy's  hand  before  he 
knew  it. 

"Kennedy — home — quick.  This  is  the  first  man- 
ful impulse  I  have  had  for  two  years.  And, 
Jameson — you'll  tone  down  that  part  of  it  in  the 
newspapers  that  Junior — might  read — when  he 
grows  up?" 


THE    END 


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